Mother's Footsteps
by magentabear
Summary: Grace's battle with alcohol becomes personal. Mainly focused on Grace, but with a healthy serving of GraceLuke goodness. Complete.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"My name is Grace, and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Grace," the crowd dutifully murmured.

Grace sat back down, horrified. She shouldn't be here. She wasn't an alcoholic, a drunk, a ruined waste of cells. She wasn't her mother. She wasn't.

"Grace," the AA man said "when was the last time you took a drink?"

Grace couldn't answer. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't. God, when had she gotten so weak? The man wouldn't look away; his eyes bored into her. They were grey and piercing and they hurt her… _just like Luke's_.

"It's okay, Grace," he said. "You're among friends here."

"I… had some vodka yesterday," she finally muttered.

"Any today?" Greg—Grace finally noticed the nametag—asked kindly.

"I don't drink before noon," she spat out. Greg wasn't fazed by the hostility.

"That's good, Grace," he said soothingly. "Soon you won't be drinking at all." He turned his attention back to the group. "Soon, none of you will be drinking. You took the first step; you're getting help. I'm proud of you."

This is when Grace stopped listening. What a bunch of shit. In two days, most of the people in the room would be drunk off their asses. Grace knew she would.

xxxxx

An intelligent thought finally broke into her drunken haze. _Self-fulfilling prophesies suck. You can't escape them._

Grace wanted an escape. That's all she wanted. Was that so much to ask? Grace felt tears start to well up and she reached for the bottle. It was rum today. Today was a rum day. Rum and coke. Rum and coke without the coke. No coke. No cocaine either. Drugs are bad. Rum is good. Good rum. Dumb rum. Rum is dumb. _I'm dumb._

Grace leaned forward and cried. She hated her mother.

xxxxx

Grace celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday with the Rabbi. He drove all the way to New York City from Maryland to be with her. Grace loved him for it and resolved not to drink anything that day. She wouldn't show him what had become of her.

"Gracie," her dad said hesitantly during dinner, "I ran into Helen Girardi at the grocery store last week." He paused to see her reaction.

Grace needed a drink. Immediately. She needed to excuse herself, walk into her kitchen and pour some vodka into her lemonade. She didn't, of course. The Rabbi took her non-response to mean this was a safe topic.

"She said Luke is doing well," he continued. "He's finishing up some research at Caltech."

"Good for him," Grace choked out.

"Yeah," her dad nodded. "And Joan's thinking about moving back to Arcadia. She doesn't like Florida."

"Did she say anything about Adam?" Grace asked.

"No. I know he and Joan still talk sometimes, though. I think I remember Carl mentioning that his girlfriend is annoyed by 'Jane.' Poor girl."

"She's worried over nothing. They haven't been together in years," Grace remarked with a sigh. Those were the good old days. Grace had never thought she would consider _high school_ the good old days.

"Yeah." Her dad took a bite of chicken. "Oh, and Kevin finally married that Beth girl. Do you remember her?"

"No."

"Me neither," he laughed, "but I didn't tell that to Helen."

"Smart move."

The rest of the meal was pleasant. Grace made her dad leave, though, as soon as dinner was finished. He shouldn't be driving so far so late at night, and Grace wasn't sure her resolve could hold out much longer. The news about her old friends was bringing up too many memories, and Grace needed to escape them.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Grace took her first sip of alcohol on February 12 in her freshman year of college. She was sitting alone in her old bedroom the day after her mother's funeral. Grace's eyes wandered aimlessly around the room. She was horrified when she noticed a six-pack peeking out from a pile of crap in the corner. She stomped over to it. Four of the bottles were empty. Grace whirled around and began a frantic search. Thirty minutes later, she had discovered three bottles of vodka, two bottles of cheap wine, another six-pack, a Costco-sized barrel of rum and a bottle opener. Almost half of the bottles were partially finished, and a few of them were empty. It seemed her mom had found a use for Grace's room.

Grace was suddenly furious. The numbness she had felt since she received the news that her mom had died from alcohol poisoning was gone. How dare her mother use her room for drinking? She had an entire house to ruin lives in; why force her addiction into Grace's space? What if it was one of these bottles that killed her? Grace crumpled onto the floor. She picked up an empty vodka bottle and threw it. The tinted blue glass shattered against her poster of Amelia Earhart.

Grace didn't realize she was sobbing until she was finished. Touching her wet cheek gingerly with left hand, Grace picked up one of the half-filled beer bottles with her right. Still dazed, she took a drink. She took another. Then another. Soon, three more of the bottles were empty and Grace wasn't angry anymore. She was numb. She was drunk.

Grace woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. She took in the empty bottles and broken glass quietly. She slowly hid each of the bottles, trying to put them back in the places her mother had chosen. She couldn't be bothered with the glass shards on the floor. Head still pounding, Grace snuck downstairs. She needed a lot of aspirin and some air.

Luke came over that afternoon. Grace was lying on her bed, pretending she didn't know her room was filled with alcohol.

"Grace," he said softly, standing at her door.

"Why are you here?" she asked just as softly.

"Breaking up didn't make me stop caring about you, Grace." Luke walked in and shut the door behind him.

"We had to break up, dork. I was going away to college." Grace refused to sit up and look at him.

"I know we did," Luke said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, as far away from Grace as he could get. Grace could only see his profile out of the corner of her eye. "I didn't come to try to get back together."

"Why _did_ you come, then?" she asked, still focusing on the ceiling.

"Because your mom died. Because I'm sorry she hurt you again. Because I wanted to."

Grace finally rolled over to face him.

"She drank herself to death, Luke."

Luke just stared back. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to her. He sighed.

"Shit, Grace, I don't know what to do."

"Then don't do anything," Grace snapped as she jerked into a sitting position. "Why are you here? We broke up. We don't talk anymore."

Luke didn't say anything. Finally, he stood up. He turned to face her.

"Joan's going to be here tonight. She wants to see you. Let her in, okay?" He paused. "You guys haven't broken up." Then he was gone.

Joan did come over that night. She had ditched Chemistry 101 and driven four hours to spend the night crying in Grace's room. Grace was pissed, but at the same time she felt better. Joan was a friend.

xxxxx

Grace spent the rest of the week in her room. She only saw the Rabbi at dinner and when they happened to pass in the hallway on the way to the bathroom.

Grace had one small drink of wine on Friday. On Saturday, she hated herself and refused to go to Temple. On Sunday, she cleaned up the glass from the vodka bottle. This inspired her to have another sip of liquor, so she drank a third of a bottle of vodka. Or maybe it was more; Grace couldn't be sure. On Monday, Grace took some aspirin and hated her mother.

Adam showed up on Tuesday. He found Grace staring at a row of empty liquor bottles.

"Rove…" Grace said softly.

He just shook his head sadly.

"I can't do this. I can't have a dead, alcoholic mother," Grace said slowly.

"Please, Grace," he pleaded, "don't torture yourself. Get rid of the alcohol."

"I sure know how to do that," Grace muttered to herself.

"What?"

Grace looked at Adam as if she had just noticed he was there.

"Nothing," Grace lied, "I didn't say anything."

Adam clearly did not believe her, but he didn't push it. Instead, he gathered up the bottles and threw them in the trashcan under the desk. Then he picked up the trashcan and disappeared. He came back ten minutes later with an empty trashcan and coffee for the both of them. They drank the coffee in silence.

Before he left, Adam put hand comfortingly on Grace's shoulder and whispered "it gets better." Grace wished she believed him.


	3. Chapter Three

Forgot to say this before: I own nothing, and am in no way associated with _Joan of Arcadia_.

**Chapter 3**

Grace looked at the housing application her resident advisor had given her. Grace couldn't believe she had to fill out another one. She had filled in the exact same form to get freshman housing. Why do it again just because she was going to be a sophomore in a few months? It's not like she'd changed that much in the last year.

Grace realized what a lie that was when she got to question four.

"4. What is your attitude toward alcohol consumption?

…. I don't want a roommate who drinks.

…. I don't care if my roommate drinks."

Grace didn't know what to mark. Last year she had marked the first line without a second thought; years of living with an alcoholic made it an easy choice. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Grace had only touched alcohol once since her return to college. She had meant to avoid it altogether, she really had, but one night some pervert with too much money saw Grace walking down the street and decided that the "angry, pretty girl" needed a drink. Grace had decided that one night with a random imbecile wouldn't hurt. With—Jake, was it? no… wait, yes, it was Jake—Grace had enjoyed a night filled with Long Island ice teas and absolutely no memories or pain.

Grace didn't plan to repeat that night often, but—only every once in a while—the peace she found in beer would be nice to have. Grace reasoned it would be easier to get a night or two free of her mind if her roommate had liquor stashed in their room.

But Grace was scared. She couldn't take up drinking. In biology they had learned the addictions are partly hereditary, and Grace recognized she was likely to become an addict if she allowed herself too many nights of peace. Grace put a thick X next to the first choice. She didn't want a roommate who drinks.

Really, how many drunks can one ten-by-twelve foot room hold?

xxxxx

Author's note: reviews would be greatly appreciated. And it doesn't have to be positive. Be mean to me; I can't fix whatever's wrong if I don't know it's wrong. Also, I'm wondering if anyone thinks I'm insane for writing Grace as an alcoholic. Both biology and psychology says kids take after their parents, though, so even some like Grace who knows better could start drinking. Let me know if you think I'm crazy and am underestimating Grace's strength. And finally, sorry this chapter's so short; expect a nice long one (and a relatively happy one) any day now.


	4. Chapter Four

Author's note: I felt like writing something a bit happier than my last chapters. This needn't turn into an angsty tragedy. Also, thanks for the reviews.

**Chapter Four**

"Do you like camping?" Joan asked Grace. They were both home for the summer after their freshman year and passing some time at Joan's house.

"No," Grace said quickly.

"Do you want to go camping with me next week?" Joan asked, completely ignoring Grace's negavtive reply.

"No."

"Please, Grace. We're going back to school soon, and won't be seeing each other until Winter Break."

"Dude, don't get all politically correct just 'cause I'm Jewish. You can call it Christmas Break like the rest of the country."

"So, will you go camping with me?" Joan continued to ignore Grace's lack of enthusiasm.

"Who's going?"

"Well, you, me, Adam and, um" Joan paused, hesitant, "and Luke."

"Girardi!"

"If I can still be friends with Adam after what he did to me, the least you can do is put up with Luke for a weekend. I want us all to go camping."

"But… _why_?"

"Just to, you know, spend some time together. It's important to make good memories."

"Any particular reason we need to do this in crowded, dirty campground?" Grace asked.

"Grace," Joan whined, "what will we look back on when times are tough if we don't make good memories with good people now?"

"Where the hell did that come from, Girardi? And since when have I been 'good people?'"

"You're a good person, Grace, and you know it," Joan said flippantly before returning to the subject at hand. "Okay, we have enough sleeping bags for everyone, we're gonna borrow my uncle's tent and Adam volunteered to drive. We just need you to agree to come and find a big cooler for our drinks."

The two friends stared at each other. Grace broke the silence first.

"Fine, I'll go. I'll even get ice for the coolers."

Joan shrieked in her horribly girly way.

"I promise, Grace, it'll be fun," she squealed.

"Whatever, Girardi," Grace got up and headed for the door. Just as she was about to leave, she called back "but I'm stealing the cooler and the ice from the Temple."

"Borrowing, Grace. Good people borrow," she responded, but Grace was already out the door.

xxxxx

"We're gonna give this cooler back, right?" Luke asked as they loaded up Adam's car for the big trip.

"Of course, Luke," Joan said, exasperated, "you can't steal from a _temple_."

"But stealing from the homeless is okay?" Luke retorted.

Joan's hand flew to her belly button.

"Shut up, dork. I made up for it. And it wasn't _really_ stealing from them."

"Then what was it, exactly?" Grace asked. Adam wisely stayed out of this conversation.

"You know what?" Joan said, "I don't want to talk about this."

"And I didn't want to come camping, but here I am," Grace remarked. Joan ignored her and got into the car.

"Hey," Luke said, "why do you get shotgun?"

Joan stuck her tongue out at Luke.

"Nice, Joan," he muttered, "really mature."

"Oh, so you don't want to sit in back with me?" Grace joked. At least, it was supposed to be a joke. It ended a little too vulnerable, though.

Luke decided to let Joan sit in the front.

xxxxx

Grace Polk was sitting around a campfire with her friends toasting marshmallows. Luke and Joan were bickering the way only siblings can and Adam was watching with mild interest. Grace was surprised when she realized she was having a good time. Who knew she could like something so normal? Damn those Girardis; it was all their fault.

They went hiking the next day. Yes, hiking. The sensitive artist, scrawny geek, angry rebel and bubbly teen went hiking.

"I am never doing this again," Joan announced dramatically, after swatting at the fourth mosquito to land on her.

"We've only gone," Luke checked his walk-odometer "one point three miles. We're not even at the half way mark."

"I cannot believe you brought that thing," Grace said.

"What? This thing's awesome. It can tell you how far many miles we've gone, how many steps I've taken, my heart rate and how many calories I've burned," Luke defended himself. "And look, it's so small I can clip it on my waistband and forget about it until I want to use it."

"What are you, their spokesman?" Grace asked.

Luke ignored her.

"How many steps have you taken?" Adam asked.

"Um, hold on a second." Luke fiddled with the little machine. It beeped three times. "Crap! I restarted it!"

"Boy Wonder can't work technology?" Grace teased.

"This isn't technology," Luke insisted. "It's a piece of crap."

"He can't work a dish washer, either," Joan said.

"Says the girl who _sprained her ankle_ in the washing machine," Luke retorted.

Continuing their argument, brother and sister fell behind.

"Remind me again, why did we date them?" Grace muttered to Adam.

Adam looked pained for a moment.

"We needed them, Grace."

"I wasn't really looking for an answer, Rove."

Adam and Grace finished the hike in silence. Luke and Joan eventually stopped fighting and caught up. All four of them were relieved when they reached the end of the trail.

The trail ended at a fairly large lake at the base of some mountains. To their left were boulders left over from landslides. They sat down in the shade of tree and pulled lunch out of their backpacks. The only conversation exchanged during the meal was about their aching feet.

After lunch, Joan decided to work on her tan. She climbed onto one of the boulders and stretched out. Adam pulled out his sketchpad and began drawing the lake. Grace guessed it would be ten minutes tops before he switched to sketching Joan. Grace glanced at the boulder and saw that Joan had pulled up her shirt to tan her stomach. Grace was embarrassed for her. Shaking her head slightly, Grace looked toward Luke. He was messing with his measuring thing again. Bored, Grace began wandering, poking behind some of the branches and peering into the crevices in the boulders.

Grace inhaled sharply when she saw the empty beer bottles someone had shoved into the space between two rocks. _Dammit._ She'd been having such a good time. Grace wanted to find the dumbass that had left the bottles there and do bodily harm.

Grace hadn't had anything to drink since the Jake incident. She hadn't even been tempted since summer started. And now this. Such a subtle reminder, Grace thought. _It's always with me. Even when I'm with Adam and Girardi and Girardi, and in a different state. There's no escape._ At that moment, Grace thought she might cry.

"Grace!" Luke called, "you ready to go?"

Startled, Grace blinked and shook her head rapidly. _Get a grip, Polk._

"Yeah, I'm ready," she yelled back just a Luke appeared at Grace's side. "Don't sneak up on people, geek," she gasped.

"You okay?" he asked, "you seem weird."

"I'm good," Grace lied as she started to move toward Adam and Joan. "C'mon, let's go. I want to see how Joan handles the hike back."

Grace turned back to look at Luke when she realized he wasn't with her. He was standing where Grace had been moments before with a look of rage on his face.

"That lazy, horrible, mean—" he started.

"Dude, your insults suck," Grace interrupted, "let's go."

"I'm sorry, Grace."

"Sorry for what?" she demanded.

"That some jerk left beer bottles here," he answered.

"Girardi, don't go there."

Luke stared at her. Grace stared back. She'd forgotten how sharp his gaze was.

"Okay," he finally whispered, "okay. Just… promise me you'll talk to someone if you need to. You don't always have to be the strong one."

Grace walked away and refused to talk to Luke on the hike back.

xxxxx

By unspoken agreement, neither Grace nor Luke mentioned what had happened by the lake during the rest of the trip. Grace had been afraid Luke would corner her at some point and try to talk, but he kept his silent promise. Once or twice Grace thought she saw him staring at her, worry laced in his features, but she could never be sure.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. They went on another hike, tried to barbeque hamburgers and played hours of poker. They used pebbles and pieces of pinecones for chips, and when the weekend was over, Grace the largest pile of random nature bits. For her trophy as first place winner of the "First and Probably Not Annual Camping Trip Poker Tournament" (aptly named by Luke) Joan filled three water bottles with Grace's winnings and Adam wired them together. It wasn't his best work.

xxxxx

They all went off to their separate colleges soon after returning from the trip. As Joan had predicted, Grace didn't see any of them until she was home for Winter Break.

While celebrating New Year's Eve at the Girardi house, Grace made a New Year's resolution for the first time in her life. She wouldn't drink anymore. Grace was certain she could keep the resolution. After all, she hadn't had a drink since that embarrassing Jake incident, and she had only been tempted once. She had been pissed at her Calculus teacher and frustrated with her dad and angry that her roommate wouldn't shut about the fight she was having with her mother. Grace had needed a drink. While she was looking for a jacket to wear to the bar, though, Grace had spied her ugly poker trophy. She had remembered the camping trip, and decided that she didn't need to drink, really.

Grace had never forgotten what Luke said after he saw the beer bottles. _"You don't always have to be the strong one._" Grace appreciated the sentiment, but she disagreed. The child of a dead alcoholic always has to be the strong one. And Grace _was_ strong, dammit. She was. Instead of paying some twenty-one year old to buy her some drinks, she had finished her calculus homework, stopped avoiding her dad's phone calls and started ignoring her roommate's complaints.

As she toasted with the Girardis and the Roves that New Year's Eve, Grace felt optimistic. She welcomed the emotion, even if it did feel a little strange.


	5. Chapter Five

Author's note: This chapter takes place the summer before Grace's junior year of college, after she's made the New Year's Resolution not to drink. You don't really need to know this, but I always hate when the timelines don't flow smoothly, so the obsessive-compulsive in me needs to be clear about the timeframes.

Okay, on with the story.

**Chapter 5**

The alarm clock woke Grace up at an ungodly hour. She ignored it. The noise of the bathtub filling assaulted Grace. She ignored it. The hair-dryer buzzed in Grace's ears for a solid ten minutes. She ignored it. The tea pot started whistling, and _didn't effing stop._ Grace's eyes flew open and she stomped into the kitchen.

"Iris," she growled, "it is six o'clock in the morning. Shut. Up. Now."

"Grace," her roommate whispered, "you know I have to be there at a quarter to seven. You think I like being up this early?"

"I don't care if you like it. Just be quiet about it."

"I try," Iris said softly.

"Why are you whispering?" Grace snapped. "You've already woken up the whole building."

"Stop being so dramatic, Grace."

"Stop whispering!"

"Stop yelling!"

"I hope you're late to work," Grace spat out as she turned back toward her bedroom.

"I'll miss you, too, Gracie," Iris smirked.

Grace whirled around.

"Don't call me Gracie," she said with narrowed eyes. "Just don't."

Iris left without another word.

Grace and Iris had been living together for four weeks, and Grace figured she had been woken up by the idiotic Iris Martinez before sunrise for three of those four weeks. It had been a trying summer. Grace was living in New York while completing an internship she had earned through her college. She had been hoping that the internship would help her decide if she should go to law school, but so far, all it had done was teach Grace to never let her college counselor find her a roommate. Iris also had a summer internship through the college, and Grace's counselor had suggested that they room together for "safety reasons."

Grace didn't think it was safe for two people who hated each other to share such a small space.

xxxxx

An hour later, Grace was on her way to work. As she did every morning while riding the subway, Grace hoped her boss was out sick. It hadn't happened yet, but she remained ever hopeful.

Grace hated her boss, Susan McComen, almost as much as she hated Iris. Susan (Grace refused to call her Mrs. McComen) had somehow found out how Grace's mom had died, and had taken it upon herself to "be the mother Grace never had." Though the conspiracy theorist in Grace took some vindictive pleasure in the knowledge that people with money and power controlled too much information, Grace was, for the most part, extremely pissed.

"Good morning, Grace," Susan greeted Grace as she had every morning for the past four weeks.

"Hi," Grace responded as she always did.

"You look so tired, dear, what time did you go to bed last night?" Susan asked.

Grace just looked at Susan as she locked her purse into her desk drawer.

"I know New York is an exciting place to be, Grace, but you have to make sure you go to bed early enough," she rambled on.

"Yes, it's very exciting," Grace deadpanned.

"Pick up a banana on your way to Mr. Nankemi's office; you need to eat. And don't forget to get Mr. Nankemi to sign that he received his mail."

Grace sighed. She was really nothing more than a glorified errand-runner with a busy body for a boss. Grace picked up his mail and headed for Mr. Nankemi's office. She didn't eat a banana.

Only later that day, when Grace realized she had missed the bagel cart that came at eleven and that the vending machine was broken, did Grace wish she had taken a banana. She was hungry. And some bastard had taken the last banana in the break room.

As a very hungry Grace dragged feet up the stairs to her apartment, a thought entered her head. _I hate this._ She turned around, jerkily walked down the stairs, hailed a cab, and requested that the driver take her to a bar.

"Which one?" he asked impatiently, "there's four within three blocks of here."

"Of course there are," Grace muttered.

"You gotta speak up," the driver said in a loud voice, as if to demonstrate.

"Never mind about the bar," Grace said in a normal voice, "just… take me that way." She pointed randomly to her left.

After a pause, the driver decided it was worth the fare Grace would pay to cart a crazy lady around New York City.

Four blocks down, Grace requested that he stop. She paid him in a hurry, and walked into a restaurant. After a quick piece of pizza, Grace prepared for the walk home. She was swinging her backpack onto her shoulders when the manager flicked on the Happy Hour sign.

She inhaled sharply. Once, when she was a little girl who didn't understand why her mother sometimes acted kind of funny, Grace had asked her mom what her favorite time of day was. With a strange smile, her mom had answered that she loved Happy Hour.

"What's that, Mommy?" Grace had asked innocently.

Sarah had seemed shocked at her own answer.

"It's when people who love each other sit down to eat and talk and have fun," she had answered after a beat.

"Oh," Grace had said with a small frown, "so there are lots of Happy Hours?"

"Yes, sweetie, lots of Happy Hours."

Now that Grace was older, the memory of that little conversation sickened her. In Grace's experience, Happy Hour wasn't all that great. She turned away from the lurid Happy Hour sign and frantically rushed home. She managed to make it to her bedroom before tears escaped.

xxxxx

The night before Iris and Grace were to leave New York, Iris threw herself a good-bye party. Grace had meant to stay out late that night, but she forgot about the party and walked in as it was in full swing. She tried to slip into her room unnoticed, but Iris dragged Grace back to living room.

"You are not hiding in your room, Grace," Iris hissed in Grace's ear. "I will not be embarrassed like that."

"Well, I'm certainly not making small talk with your lame-ass friends," Grace hissed back.

"Yes, you are," Iris whispered dangerously. "Now take this drink, and go talk to people."

Grace found herself in a group of slightly tipsy college students trying to be more sophisticated than they were. All their drinks had strange, pretentious names like Tequila Sunrise and Sex on the Beach. No beer for this group; they were above it. Grace looked down at her own drink and wondered what Iris had shoved into her hand. Hesitantly, Grace brought it to her lips. She was considering taking a drink when she heard a snippet of the conversation behind her.

"Don't have another one, Mike," a whiny-voiced girl begged quietly.

"We're at a party, Elly. It's okay to drink," a deep voice murmured.

"Not for you, Mike. I think you're addicted." The whiny girl seemed near tears.

"I'm a social drinker," he whispered, outraged. Grace almost laughed. Her mom had claimed to be a social drinker for years. She had finally given up and admitted she was an addict two weeks before Grace's sixteenth birthday. Not that it had changed anything.

Grace turned around. A tall girl with jet-black hair and an average-looking guy with brown hair were staring at each other silently. Betrayal and anger marked both their faces.

"Hi, I'm Grace, Iris's roommate," Grace said brightly, surprising even herself. The girl recovered first.

"Nice to meet you," she said just as brightly. "I'm Elly. I interned with Iris."

"I'm Mike," the boy said morosely.

"Mike," Grace asked, "what kind of drink do I have in my hand?"

Mike seemed thrown for a moment, but he quickly recovered and focused on her drink eagerly.

"It looks like a Cosmopolitan," he said confidently.

"Would you like it?" Grace asked.

"No, he wouldn't," Elly answered. "In fact, we were just leaving." Mike's face darkened considerably, and Grace knew it would be a long ride home for the couple.

"That's too bad," Grace said, still falsely bright.

As the couple walked around saying good-bye to the other guests, Grace pulled Elly aside and dropped the happy attitude.

"Elly, he's not going to change," she said urgently. "Don't waste your time."

"What…what are you talking about?" Elly asked, dazed.

"If he's an alcoholic now, he'll be one forever. Leave him while you still can."

Elly's look of confusion quickly changed to bitter disappointment, then to quiet outrage. She walked out the door with her hand on Mike's arm.

Grace watched them leave over the rim of her cup. Damn, Iris could make a good drink. Maybe she wasn't the Devil Incarnate, after all.

xxxxx

xxxxx

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay. Please don't take it out on me by refusing to review.


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Still not mine, and let's assume from now on that we all know this.

Author's notes: I don't remember if Grace's dad was ever given a first name, so I'm naming him Scott. It's awkward to keep writing "the Rabbi" and "Grace's dad." I apologize if he already has a name and I've merely forgotten it.

**Chapter 6**

Grace's dad hugged her tight when she returned from the summer internship, and Grace knew he had missed her. She hugged him back.

For reasons she didn't acknowledge, Grace wondered if Luke missed her. She knew Joan and Adam did—Joan because she called far more than was necessary, and Adam because, well, he was Adam. You aren't friends for that long without knowing a guy.

And that's what puzzled Grace. She had known Adam so well for so long, and she was with Luke for all of two years (a rocky two years at that), but it was Luke she thought about. Grace was relieved she didn't believe in soulmates. Her soulmate would not be a scrawny geek with a normal life. She wouldn't stand for it.

Grace wondered if she had, in fact, taken a drink of the glass in front of her. Why else would she be thinking about _soulmates_? A little unsteadily, Grace leaned forward to look at her glass. Shit. She had taken more than a drink. Grace unceremoniously dumped the entire glass into the kitchen trashcan. Grace was thankful her dad wasn't home. She stumbled up the stairs and lay down on her bed.

xxxxx

After yet another night of restless sleep and haunting dreams she couldn't remember, Grace decided it was time to make some changes. Her junior year of college was starting in a week, and she couldn't continue like this.

Grace was going to have to talk to her dad.

xxxxx

Grace set her fork down, had a sip of water, took a deep breath, let it out and started the conversation.

"Dad, I need to know some stuff about Mom."

Grace's dad froze for a moment, hands still poised to cut a bite of chicken. He, too, took a deep breath.

"What do you want to know, Grace?"

"How did it start? When did you know? Why… Why didn't it get better?"

"I waited for years for you to ask these questions, Gracie," he said softly, "but I still don't know what to say."

"When did you realize she had a problem?"

"Do you remember your sixth birthday?" her dad asked.

Grace paused, then shook her head.

"You didn't have a party. She forgot it. That's when I realized there might be a problem. She had never missed your birthday before."

"She forgets a birthday, and you know she's alcoholic. Psychic, are we?"

"There were hints before that."

Grace waited for him to go on. He didn't.

"Dad," she said sharply, "what were the hints?"

"Did she ever tell you about her Aunt Michelle?"

Grace shook her head.

"You're grandmother's sister was an alcoholic. I never met her, but you're mom told me about her. Michelle used to baby-sit Mom before people realized she was sick. And that's what it _is_, Gracie, a sickness. Your mother didn't _choose_ to do that to herself, to us. She was just sick."

"Why didn't she get better, then? Sick people get better."

"Not all of them get better."

"But a lot of them do."

"But your mother didn't."

"But, _why_?"

"Stop it, Grace. You're acting like a spoiled five year old. She was sick. I don't know why, she didn't know why, no will ever know why. There wasn't a reason. It just was."

"My mother has been a drunk since my sixth birthday, and you _lecture_ me? No. I'm sorry, but this is a load a crap. Tell me about my mother," Grace demanded

"I loved your mother very much. She was beautiful and kind and funny and smart."

"Yes, because what beautiful, kind, funny, smart person _doesn't_ turn to tequila?"

"You're mother was also insecure and afraid," he said, ignoring her comment. "She wasn't as strong as you are, Grace."

Grace inhaled sharply.

"I'm so proud of you, Gracie. I don't think I've told you this enough, but I am. You're amazing, honey," Scott said with fatherly pride.

"This conversation isn't about me," Grace snapped. "What were the hints?"

"When we were dating, we would sometimes go to parties. She would refuse to drink for most of the party, then suddenly down three glasses. It was amazing how fast she could drink. I used to be so confused."

Scott waited for Grace to say something. She didn't.

"And then," he continued painfully, "there was her refusal to keep alcohol in her home. She refused to let a drop of it in the house until you were five years old."

"When did you suspect anything?" Grace asked.

"It took me so long, Grace. I was in denial for so long."

"When did you suspect?"

"I didn't even think there was something wrong when I found her in the bathroom, weeping, because she… well, it doesn't matter. I missed the big hint."

"Tell me," Grace said softly. "I need to know everything. She was my mother."

Scott blinked, almost as if there were tears in his eyes.

"After I proposed, we decided that we would have three children. We figured three kids would guarantee us both a boy and a girl. We wanted both."

Grace didn't move. She wasn't sure if she would like where this was going.

"So, anyway, after we had been married a year," Scott continued shakily, "I asked her if she was ready to start the family. She said no. I was shocked. I had thought she was as excited as I was to have kids. Over the next two years, I asked her three times if she was ready to start a family. Each time she said she wasn't ready." The words were coming out faster now. Scott almost looked relieved that he could share this with someone. "Finally, I exploded. I begged her to be ready, told her we had to start before we were too old. She sat quietly during my rant, and we pretty much ignored each other for a week. Then I found her crying in the bathroom."

There was a pause as father and daughter looked at each other.

"She told me that she was scared," her dad said. "She didn't want to become Michelle. She was crying so hard, and clutching a bath towel like it was all she had. It… she just… I didn't know what to do, Gracie, I didn't. I had no idea what she was talking about; your mom had never told me about Michelle. I asked her, and she just cried harder. And then, I…"

This is when he started crying. Only a few tears escaped, though, and Scott continued his story.

"I didn't know what was going on and I left her. I just left her, sitting in the bathroom, clutching a stupid yellow towel and crying. I was too angry to try to understand. She wasn't following our plan and I wanted kids. I was furious."

"She didn't want me?" Grace asked.

"Oh, no, Gracie, no that wasn't it," Scott said, horrified, "she was afraid of hurting you. That night at dinner she explained it all to me. She told me about her aunt, and how easy it would be for her to forget everything by drinking. She was afraid she would become an alcoholic, and hurt her kids. She wanted to be the perfect mother."

"Looks like her fears may have been correct," Grace whispered.

"Yes, it does," Scott agreed, "but I didn't know that at the time. I thought she was being silly, and I told her so. I convinced her that she would never become her aunt, that she would be an excellent mother. She believed me after awhile, and a year later, you were born."

Father and daughter ate quietly, lost in thought.

"Where are my little siblings, then?" Grace asked. "You said you wanted three kids."

"I did," Scott said, "but by the time you were three years old, and the timing was right to have another child, I had started to wonder. Your mother would disappear sometimes, and never tell me where she was. At first, I thought she was having an affair, but then I noticed the liquor bottles in our trashcans behind the garage. They were never in the trashcans inside the house, though. I didn't say anything to her, but decided I would have to watch her. I asked her if she wanted to stop with one child, and she agreed."

There was a long pause as Grace digested the information.

"Dad," Grace said as she got up to leave, "thank you for fighting for me, and thank you for giving up the fight after me."

"You're welcome," he told the empty chair.

xxxxx

xxxxx

More Author's Notes: I was just looking over my last chapter, and I realized I named one of the characters Iris, and, as I now remember, there has already _been_ an annoying Iris on the show. There was no need for another. It was just a freak coincidence that I used the name Iris. I wasn't trying to hint at something or anything like that. My apologies.

Thank you all SO much for reading this! I love you all—even those of you who don't review. (And in my happy land called Denial, there are a lot of people reading this, but not reviewing. Don't worry, though, I'm not going to beg you to start now; I myself am guilty of reading more than I review.)

One last thing: WHY DID THEY CANCEL JOAN OF ARCADIA? WHY, IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, _WHY_? Sorry, just had to get that off my chest. I'll shut up now, and start working on chapter 7. I, unlike CBS, don't give up half-way through a project.


	7. Chapter Seven

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the inexcusable delay. I will make up for it. Girl Scouts Honor. (Disregard the fact I quit Girl Scouts in the seventh grade. Embrace the fact I was a good Girl Scout.)

Just a reminder: Since I don't think he has one in the show, Grace's dad is named Scott in my story.

**Chapter 7**

"Dammit, Joan, can we not talk about this for one friggin second?" Luke yelled, finally out of patience.

"Luke!" his girlfriend, Dora, exclaimed, "You never swear."

"Never say never," Joan sang under her breath.

"Oh my God, I have to leave. Right now. Holy shit, I have to leave this _very_ moment."

And he left.

"Luke, wait for me," Dora called. With an apologetic smile in Joan's direction, she hurried after her boyfriend.

"Don't worry about the bill, guys," Joan said to the empty table. "Dinner's on me."

The waitress appeared with a pitcher of ice water.

"Where'd you're friends go, honey?" she asked as she refilled Joan's glass. "That boy didn't leave a nice girl like you with the bill, I hope."

"Brothers," Joan muttered.

"Oh, no need to explain, sugar," she said with a sympathetic grin. "My brother 'n' me didn't get along 'til both of us had kids."

"No, we get along pretty well," Joan said, "it's just… we have an ongoing argument. And I _know_ I'm right."

"'Course you are, hon."

"You're just saying that because I'm the sister and we girls have to stick together, huh?" Joan asked with a rare flash of brilliance. "Girl power and all that jazz?"

"Heavens no," the waitress laughed. "I'm saying that 'cause you're paying for the meal, and tips are better when they're bigger."

Okay, so this wasn't one of those flashes. Joan could live with that. What Joan _couldn't_ live with was seeing the people she loved unhappy.

xxxxx

Grace barely smiled when Joan enthusiastically greeted her on the Girardi front porch during Christmas break of senior year. This wasn't all that unusual. What was unusual was the look in Grace's eyes. She looked tired and sad. Lifeless. This was such a change from the energized, pissed-off Grace she knew that Joan immediately force-fed Grace three helpings of left-over Christmas dinner and made her watch Will Ferrell movies with the entire Girardi family. Grace did not appreciate this, and Joan was happy to see the angry spark in her eye.

Much to Joan's surprise, Luke wasn't happy, either. The day before the siblings left for college, she cornered him.

"Luke, what's going on?"

He jumped.

"A little warning next time?" he asked.

Joan rolled her eyes.

"Luke, can I speak to you for a moment?" she asked sweetly.

"Of course you can, Joan," he answered, just as politely.

"I'm worried about Grace, and I know you are, too."

Luke's blank face gave away nothing. Joan sighed.

"You saw her that day. She looked half-dead."

"And this concerns me how?" Luke asked, his face still neutral.

"Dammit Luke!" Joan exploded, "it concerns you because you _love_ her, you imbecile. And _she_ loves _you_."

"Joan, we have not been together since high school. I wouldn't say we are madly in love."

"But you care about her, Luke," Joan said. "I know you do."

"She's a great girl, Joan. I want her to be happy."

"I want her to be happy, too. Did she _look_ happy to you? Did she?"

"No, she didn't," Luke said after a pause. "But it's not our place to change her. She has to do it herself."

"No, I think it is just our place. We are some of her best friends. Friends help each other," Joan said stubbornly.

"Grace doesn't want to be helped, Joan."

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

"Trust me," Luke said sadly, "I know."

Luke walked away, and Joan spent the rest of the afternoon thinking. Something was going on. She had missed something important, she was sure. Joan slept very little that night, and woke up with a headache and a mission. She was going to get Luke and Grace back together. Luke made Grace happy, and Grace halved the dork factor in her brother. Joan put her plan into action that very day, and the argument had not ended when summer came.

xxxxx

Joan, Adam and Luke made plans to go to Grace's graduation ceremony. Because Grace was Grace, and would have told them not to come, they decided to surprise her.

Luke brought a surprise of his own. A girlfriend named Nymphadora.

"_Nymphadora?_" Joan stage-whispered to Adam when the met up at the hotel the night before Grace's ceremony. "What kind of parent names their kid _Nymphadora_?"

"Her parents," Adam answered in a whisper that wasn't all that different from his regular voice.

Luke noticed the muttered conversation and took offense.

"I've been wanting you guys to meet Dora for awhile," Luke said. "I think you'll get along."

"Oh, thank God," Joan whispered to Adam, "She doesn't go be Nymphadora. Dora is pretty."

"Thank you," Dora said. "I've always liked my name. It's original."

Adam nodded and Joan turned red.

The night went downhill from there. Adam, claiming jet-lag, didn't join them for dinner, and without her buffer there, Joan managed to offend her brother three times and cause some sort of silent argument between the couple twice. And that was before the food actually arrived.

Even being left with the bill didn't ruin Joan's joy that the meal was over.

xxxxx

The next day was the ceremony. The four college students decided to wait until Grace's name was called to make their presence known. And, thanks to Joan, their presence would be known to all. Luke didn't even want to know how she convinced Adam to make such gaudy sign, and he shuddered to think that she had spent her hard-earned money on such ridiculous noise-makers. Truly, Joan was a puzzle.

Finally, after a good three hours in the sun—Dora looked like she was seriously regretting her decision to join Luke on _this_ little adventure—Grace's name was called. Luke waved the sign frantically, Joan shrieked and Adam put those noise-makers to use. Dora clapped politely.

Grace's eyes flicked in their direction just before she shook hands with the dean from some department no one really cared about. She wrinkled her eyebrows slightly.

The ceremony finally ended. Joan fought her way to Grace, and attacked her with a hug.

"Girardi!" Grace gasped, "back _off_."

"Congratulations Grace!" Joan exclaimed. She let go of Grace, who promptly took a step backward in case another urge came over the over-excited Joan.

"Grace," Adam smiled, "good job."

"Thanks Rove."

"Grace," Luke said softly, "Great job."

"It's not that big of deal, you know," Grace said. "I mean, hundreds of thousands of people graduate college every year."

"I don't care," Dora spoke up, "when I graduate, I expect fanfare. I've worked damn hard."

"Who are you?" Grace asked. As much as he wanted to, Luke couldn't call the tone friendly.

"I'm Dora, Luke's girlfriend," she said brightly.

Grace said nothing. Adam, well aware that Grace didn't like new people, tried to save the situation.

"Hot day, huh?"

"Good idea, Adam," Joan said while rolling her eyes, "Grace, after four years of work and pain, has just graduated, despite a passionate hatred of institutionalized learning; let's talk about the weather. Tell me, what was the barometer reading today?"

"Since when have you been sarcastic?" Grace asked.

"I don't like that roommate of yours," Adam said. "You weren't this sarcastic before."

"Cindy's not bad," Luke said.

"Please," Joan said, "you just like her because she'll talk about the latest issue of _Science Today_ with you." Pause. "In her bathing suit," she added wickedly.

Dora's eyes widened.

"I feel that is a very valid reason for liking someone," Luke said.

Grace snorted. Adam shook his head sadly. Joan grinned.

"Luke," Dora said slowly, "I do hope Mindy know you are unavailable."

"It's Cindy," Luke said.

"Please excuse us," Adam said. And without further ado, he dragged Joan and Grace away.

"Adam," Joan whined, "what did you do that for? I want to see the fight."

Completely ignoring her question, Adam stopped walking. He turned and faced Joan.

"When did your brother turn into such an idiot?" he asked. "I thought he was smart."

"So did I," Joan said. "I really don't like that Dora girl."

"Right, you guys don't need me for this," Grace said. "I'm going to go find my dad. God, he's going to be so revolting."

"What!" Joan exclaimed. "No, you can't go. We want to celebrate with you. You can't leave."

"We'll find him with you," Adam, always the diplomat, offered.

With a nod, Grace turned and started the search. She couldn't believe this; she had never thought her friends would show up at her graduation. She certainly hadn't asked them to. Who were they to just show up without an invitation? How rude was that? It's not like she _needed_ them to be there or anything. Really, it was rude to just show up.

A nasty little emotion showed up. Joy. Grace was happy they had come. They hadn't forgotten about her. They still liked her, maybe even loved her. The vulnerable side of Grace was touched.

The vulnerable side of her was also ignored. Grace continued to be slightly pissed her friends had surprised her until a new emotion attacked. Guilt. Grace hadn't acknowledged Joan or Adam's graduation at all. Not even a card. Good Lord, how bad does that make her look? They were definitely going to drop her now. Grace almost cried.

It was truly unfortunate that Grace reunited with her father at this moment. He saw her holding back tears and, mistaking them to be happy tears, promptly burst into tears himself.

"Gracie," he said as he pulled her into a hug, "I'm so happy you're happy. Congratulations honey."

Joan and Adam caught up as Grace disentangled herself from the Rabbi's arms.

"She did it!" Joan squealed, pulling the Rabbi into a hug.

Grace smiled. He was getting a taste of his medicine.

When Joan finally let the mildly shocked Rabbi go, Adam stepped forward to shake his hand.

"I can't believe you kids drove all the way here for her graduation," Scott said.

"We wouldn't miss it," Adam said.

Soon the Rabbi and Adam were deep in conversation about Adam's plans for his art, the happenings in Arcadia and baseball.

"Grace," Joan whispered, "why are they talking about sports? Do they even _like_ baseball?"

"Society dictates that men must like sports, and must like discussing sports with other men," Grace said knowledgably. "Some sort of competition ritual thing. They're proving their manhood." She said this with only the barest hint of disgust.

"Someone paid attention in sociology," Joan teased.

"Shut up, Girardi."

"Make me, Polk."

"Now that," a voice said, "I would pay to see."

A tall boy with black hair appeared at their sides. A look of panic crossed Grace's face before stony anger replaced it. Joan noticed only the very pleasing profile of the black-haired gentleman.

"What do you want, Alex?" Grace asked sharply.

"Temper, temper," Alex said. "I just wanted to congratulate you, Grace. Then maybe you could congratulate me. Completely harmless."

"Nothing with you is harmless," Grace spat. "Go away."

Adam and Scott noticed the new arrival. Not having heard the earlier conversation, they greeted Alex warmly. Introductions were soon made, and Grace had to interrupt her father three times to keep him from inviting Alex and his family out for a celebratory meal.

Alex was starting to leave when Luke and Dora showed up.

"Finally! We've been looking everywhere for—Alex?" Luke interrupted himself.

"Alex?" Dora said, confused. "We've been looking for Joan."

"No," Luke said slowly as he pointed to the boy, "that is Alex."

"You've met?" Joan asked, surprised.

"Once," Luke said shortly.

"Luke," Alex said with a smile, "how nice to see you again."

A muscle worked in Luke's neck as he shook Alex's hand. Grace found herself fighting the desire to rip their hands apart, shove Alex as hard as she could, and take off running in the opposite direction. Instead, Grace watched painful, stilted small-talk unfold.

Soon, though, the memory of Alex and Luke's first meeting replaced the scene in front of her. Grace couldn't help reliving that night. It was November of her senior year…

"_Alex," Grace hiccupped, "we should stop. I've had enough."_

"_But I haven't," he slurred._

"_But if we drink it all now," Grace said "there won't be any for, uh, for… shit." She laughed. "For next week! That's it. Next week. If we drink it all now, we can't drink it next week."_

"_I'll buy more," he said, and proceeded to down two more bottles._

_This had become a bit of a ritual for them, to meet every Thursday night in his room and get drunk off their asses. They weren't friends, exactly, but Alex provided beer, and if Grace was in a good mood and especially drunk, she would make out with him. Sometimes Grace worried they went further than making out, but she could never be sure._

_Alex, proving that even assholes can have class, always walked Grace back to her dorm room. On that night, there was a surprise waiting for her._

"_Luke!" Grace gasped as she stumbled into the room._

"_Grace?" his expectant smile diminished. "Are you okay?"_

"_Of course she's okay!" Alex exclaimed. Grace covered her ears and grimaced. Alex leaned down to whisper in Luke's ear. "She's drunk. Being drunk is okay."_

"_No," Luke said slowly, "no, it's not. Grace, what's wrong?"_

_But Grace refused to answer. Ignoring them both, she curled up on her bed and put a pillow over her head. When she woke up the next morning, Luke was there with pamphlets._

"_No," Grace said, "no more fucking pamphlets. No meeting. No sobbing in room full of strangers. God, Luke, you can't fix problems with brochures and meetings."_

"_Grace," he began._

"_No," she said, "this is my thing. I'll deal with it. Go away."_

"_What?"_

"_Go away Luke. I don't want you here."_

"_But you need me here," he said plaintively._

"_I don't want you here," she repeated_

_He had started to leave when Grace jumped up and ran to him. He turned, hope in his eyes._

"_Take them with you," she said evenly, as she put the AA brochures in his hands. "I don't need them."_

_Luke took the brochures and left. Before walking out the door, though, he kissed Grace softly on the cheek and murmured "call me anytime."_

Grace's dad pulled her back into the present.

"Is that okay with you, Gracie?" he asked kindly.

"Sounds good," Grace said, without the slightest idea what she was agreeing to.

"Dinner at _Antonio's_ it is," he said happily. "C'mon, let's go." He put his arm over her shoulder and led her to the parking lot. "I'm just so proud of you, honey."

"Thanks Dad."

Her friends followed. Alex wandered off to find his parents.

Dinner went very well, considering all the secrets and hard feeling hidden in the group. They laughed more than they argued. Surrounded by her friends and her dad, Grace was almost happy.

xxxxx

xxxxx

Did you catch the _Harry Potter_ reference? I am looking forward to Book 6 so much it's not even funny. I'd even say it's pathetic. But for Harry, I will happily become pathetic. Case in point: next chapter should be up before July 16, so that I can read the new _Harry Potter_ without guilt.

Thanks for sticking with me.


	8. Chapter Eight

I'm seriously considering throwing myself a party. I'm posting this chapter a whole day before I was planning to. That's a first, folks. Happy reading.

**Chapter 8**

Grace lasted three weeks and two days after her graduation. Twenty three days without a drink is a lot for a budding alcoholic, and Grace was rather proud. She decided to celebrate.

Halfway through her celebratory glass of cheap champagne, Grace noticed a fatal flaw in her plan. Celebrating almost a month without liquor by getting drunk did very little good. In fact, Grace thought as she polished off the glass, it did quite a bit of harm.

Grace woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a new resolve. Clearly, her old resolve to give up drinking after graduating wasn't working. She would simply have to learn to control herself. She would only drink at night, and only twice a week, at most. She wouldn't drink for the hell of it, either. She would only get drunk if she was provoked.

Grace felt good about this. She went to work in a good mood.

xxxxx

It turns out that Grace is the type of person who is easily provoked. She is also the kind of person who refuses to ask for help. This is a deadly combination.

Grace always found a reason to open the liquor cabinet two times a week. If the week was drawing toward the end, and she hadn't gotten drunk twice yet, she would suddenly find herself annoyed by the ugly billboard that had been beneath her notice the day before, or pissed of because McDonalds continued to use styrofoam, and she would be "forced" to drink. She had, after all, been provoked.

Grace always took her two nights of empty drinking and blissful silence.

xxxxx

Grace's new resolve lasted throughout summer and fall. She controlled her habit—not her addiction, mind you, because Grace Polk was _not_ addicted—carefully. No one at the paper she worked at suspected a thing, because Grace always finished her articles before she got drunk, and absolutely never showed up looking like she had a hangover. She controlled her twitches, never begging people to keep quiet as sitcom characters did when they were hung-over. A small part of Grace was even glad she suffered on these mornings; it was her punishment for the last night's weakness.

Unfortunately, as fall turned into winter, her nights of weakness started increasing. Realizing that she wouldn't last Thanksgiving weekend without alcohol, Grace told everyone she was working on a big article for the paper, and stayed in New York for the holiday.

Later, Grace would think that she should have expected Joan to show up the Friday after Thanksgiving. Joan did not take disappointment well, and she had complained loudly when Grace broke the news that she was staying home for the holiday.

Luckily, Grace really was working on an article when Joan showed up on her doorstep, so Grace's lie was never discovered.

"This is a nice place, Grace," Joan said as she settled onto the couch. "How did you afford this without a roommate? I thought prices in New York were through the roof."

"They are," Grace said. "Almost all my paycheck goes into this place. Just enough left over for food." _…and beer_, Grace thought, but didn't say aloud.

"I'm guessing you don't go shopping much," Joan said.

"Did I ever?"

"Good point," Joan laughed.

Joan then launched into a long story about her attempts to find a suitable job. Since graduating, she had worked in a fast food restaurant, been a secretary for a hot-shot lawyer and worked as a supervisor at Border's. She was now thinking of becoming a substitute teacher.

"Why not just be a real teacher?" Grace asked.

"Too much responsibility," Joan said seriously. "I'd rather be that cool sub that everyone likes. I could be the campus substitute, remember those? Those people that take over for short periods of time when teachers have meetings or whatever?"

"I hated those people," Grace said.

"Well, I would be a good one. They would love me."

Though Grace would never say so, she had to agree.

xxxxx

Grace drove back to Arcadia for the first night of Hanukah, and her dad drove out to New York for the last. It was just the two of them, and Grace was happier than she had been in at least a year. They talked about trivial things, complaining about stupid people and the stupid things they did, and debated politics. Under these easy chats, both of them were content.

Grace's drinking abated somewhat after the holiday. She still drank, of course, but she only drank to take the edge off; she no longer passed out from the alcohol.

xxxxx

Grace had half-expected Joan to show up the day after Christmas. Part of her wasn't even surprised that Adam had made the journey.

No part of her was prepared for Luke's appearance.

"Girardi!" she gasped when she saw him. Two heads turned toward her.

"Young Girardi," she amended. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Grace," he said sarcastically.

"Now who's Cindy rubbing off on?" Joan asked wickedly.

"Wait," Grace broke in, "you not saying that Luke is actually going out with the Baywatch Science Queen, right?"

"You remember that?" Adam asked, surprised.

"Do you care?" Joan asked at the same time, oddly excited.

"Just because I don't have an eidetic memory doesn't mean I blunder about, unable to remember simple _conversations_, Adam," Grace said nastily.

"Told you we shouldn't've surprised her," Adam said to Joan. "She doesn't like surprises."

"Shut _up_, Adam, I already told you, this is the way we do things," she retorted.

"Yes, and for reasons passing understanding," Luke remarked.

Grace decided it was time to take control. If this continued, she might find herself so provoked that she would be sneaking tequila into whatever she was drinking that night. And Grace hated resorting to use her mom's old tricks.

"I don't have room for you all," she said bluntly. "How long are you going to be here?"

"I'm moving to New York, Grace," Adam said lightly. She rounded on him.

"You're moving to New York," she repeated, shocked. "And you're just now mentioning it."

"It never came up," Adam said sheepishly.

"Right. Okay. I'm this close to killing you, you know that right?" she asked conversationally. She showed him her thumb and forefinger, spread half an inch apart.

Adam nodded.

"Alright, then," she continued, "let's work this out. Do you have an apartment? Are the Super Siblings staying with you?" she added hopefully.

"The what?" Joan and Luke exclaimed together, scandalized.

"Ah," Adam said quietly, "that's the problem. I can't… well, apartments are really expensive, Grace. I can't really afford to live in the city."

"But you just said you're moving here," she said slowly.

"Um, see, by 'here' I meant, well, _here_," Adam said, pointing to the ground.

Comprehension dawned. Grace was actually speechless.

"Isn't it great?" Joan asked happily. "You said it yourself, Grace, you can barely afford this place."

"There's only one bedroom," Grace pointed out, deciding not to mention the larger problems with this plan.

"I still can't believe you're springing it on her like this," Luke muttered. "You can't just tell someone you're moving in as though it were a long-standing agreement. It doesn't work like that. I should have called ahead, given her some sort of warning."

They ignored him. Luke, either not noticing this or not caring, continued to complain under his breath.

"Grace, you need a roommate," Joan said over Luke's mutterings.

"I do not."

"I'm worried about you, Grace," she said.

"You don't need to be," Grace said quickly, "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Joan said automatically. "But I still worry."

"Why?" This time, both Grace and Adam spoke.

"Do I need a reason?" she countered.

Three heads nodded. Luke had stopped his tirade, and was part of the conversation once more.

"Well, I don't have one, exactly," Joan said softly. "I just… have this idea. I never _talk_ to you anymore, Grace. I don't know what's going on with you. I… have this feeling."

Not for the first time, Grace suspected Joan knew more than she let on, and was angry as hell about it.

"Girardi!" she almost yelled. This time, only Luke reacted. "Join me in the kitchen. I'm getting us all drinks. You must be thirsty. And for God's sake, sit down," she motioned to Adam and Joan.

Adam jumped slightly in surprise, apparently unaware that the four of them had just had a rather lengthy conversation in Grace's entryway. Joan sat down huffily.

"Grace," Luke began when they had reached to kitchen.

"What did you say to her, Girardi," she interrupted in a hiss. "Why is she forcing Adam on me?"

"Nothing, Grace, I swear."

She stared at him.

"I keep secrets well, Grace. You can trust me. You know that."

Grace considered the facts. Joan knew something was different about her, knew that Grace was hiding something. Only Luke could possibly have a clue about her secret. Luke and Joan talked. Luke could have easily told Joan about the night he met Alex. It's the only logical way for Joan to guess Grace had a problem. Having made up her mind, she was ready to tear Luke to shreds.

Before she could open her mouth, though, Luke's words echoed in her mind. _You can trust me. You know that._ And she did. As convinced as she was that only Luke could have blabbed her secret to Joan, Grace was convinced that he would never betray her like that. Luke just didn't do that sort of thing. Before, when they were together, he had understood her, and Grace suspected that even now, over four years after the break-up, he understood her in a way no one else did.

_But why?_ she asked herself, before shaking her head slightly and returning to the situation at hand.

"Fine," she snapped. "Let's say I believe you," she chose not to see the happiness that flicked across Luke's face, "let's say that Joan has suddenly become clairvoyant. That doesn't change the fact that there isn't room for you guys to stay here. I still only have one bedroom."

"But you forget that I have a credit card, Grace, and that there is a hotel room just down the street."

"I love you," she blurted out. A chorus of _ohshit-ohshit-ohshit-ohshit_ erupted in her mind.

"Wh-what?" he said weakly.

"Get a grip, Girardi," she said, faintly panicked, "I was just joking."

"Oh."

Feeling there was very little left to say, Grace went back into the living room. Joan and Adam were talking about his plans to get his art into some New York studios, and flirting gently. Grace wondered briefly if they would ever get together again, before deciding that they were better as friends.

"So tell me, Rove, were you serious about moving in with me?" she asked sharply, not bothering to sit down on the couch.

"I didn't know there was only one bedroom," he said.

"How is that an answer?" Joan asked indignantly.

But Grace smiled. Adam truly was a great friend.

"I'll help you find a place," Grace offered. "Working at the paper means you see all the ads for apartments before they hit the streets. We'll find you the best deal."

Adam smiled her, and Grace couldn't help smiling back.

xxxxx

Grace thoroughly enjoyed the next day. Luke dragged Joan to some science museum, getting them both out of her hair, and she and Adam spent the better part of the afternoon looking for his apartment.

They arrived back at Grace's place with enough pizza to feed them all. Joan greeted them ecstatically; a day with Luke in a museum is trying.

"It's fantastic, Adam," Joan squealed when he showed her a photo of his new home. Luke and Grace winced slightly.

"If she squealed any higher, only dogs would hear her," Luke whispered in Grace's ear. She bit back a laugh.

"It's a studio apartment," Adam said proudly.

"When are you moving in?" Luke asked.

"Just after the New Year," Adam answered. "My dad's gonna help me bring my stuff up here."

"I bet he'll be glad to get his shed back," Grace remarked.

"Actually, he said he wasn't going to change it. He says he doesn't want me to avoid visiting him because I have to work at a studio, and I don't have one there."

"That's so sweet," Joan swooned. Grace and Luke exchanged glances, identical smirks on their faces.

xxxxx

The three of them stopped over for breakfast the next day before leaving for Arcadia. It was a pleasant breakfast. When Grace shut the door in Joan's face (that girl just doesn't understand that some people don't like hugs) after the final good-bye, she felt good about life. Adam was moving to New York, but not to her apartment, Joan was still crazy in a good way, and she could still trust Luke.

Unbidden, the question she had refused to answer earlier reappeared in her mind. Why did she trust Luke so much? Especially now, when she hardly ever saw him?

xxxxx

Back in Arcadia, Adam was dropping Joan and Luke off, into Helen's waiting arms. Just as Adam was about to drive away, though, Luke appeared by his truck and knocked on the window. Confused, Adam rolled the window down.

"Luke," he said blankly.

"Adam, do me a favor," Luke said quickly. "Watch out for Grace."

"Watch out for Grace," he repeated dumbly.

"I'm worried about her, Adam," Luke said, and a shadow crossed his features. "She's changed."

"Grace is tough," Adam said confidently, "I'm sure she's fine."

"Adam," Luke said quickly, "I'm worried about her. So is Joan. Grace isn't happy."

"She may not be," Adam said, almost as quickly, "but she has to be the one to make herself happy. I already told you, she's tough. She takes care of herself."

"We're her friends, Adam," Luke said, wincing as he heard Joan's earlier argument spring from his mouth. "Friends look out for each other."

"I'll always be there for her," Adam said. "And she knows that. But she needs to come to me. That's the way it works for us. We don't push each other."

"I'm not asking you to _push_ her; I just want you to notice if she's okay or not. My God, is it that hard for you to look out for your oldest friend?"

"Look, I know you love her," Luke sputtered, clearly outraged but Adam continued, "and you _do_, don't even try to deny it, but I don't think you really get her. She's very independent."

"You think I don't _know_ that?" Luke asked, exasperated.

"I'm starting to wonder."

"Fine, don't look out for her. Just, at least don't forget her. Talk to her sometimes."

"Maybe you should take your own advice," Adam said, starting to get angry.

"If you think she needs help, if she's not okay, I want you to call me. If you can spare the time, of course, from your precious studio" Luke spat out, also angry.

"Grace is fine," Adam repeated stubbornly, before rolling up his window and driving away. Luke trudged back into the house.

xxxxx

xxxxx

Next chapter up in about a week, and the story should be finished within a month. Thanks for making it this far.

I'm resorting to begging here: please review, and please please let me know if you have a suggestion for improvement. I'm worried I over-used italics, and that the chapter is too choppy. Let me know what you think.


	9. Chapter Nine

Well, I didn't get this out before my self-imposed deadline. My apologies.

**Chapter 9**

After Adam moved to New York, he and Grace got into the pattern of meeting for lunch once a week. They never talked about anything important, but both of them enjoyed the easy silence.

Adam let Grace know what was going on back home, amusing her with stories about Joan's continued attempt to find a suitable job. Turns out, substituting wasn't her thing. Niether was coaching or accounting.

Adam never mentioned Luke. Grace never asked.

xxxxx

It was a hot summer that year. Grace sometimes thought she would sufocate from the heat as she took short-cuts through alleys, or fought through crowded sidewalks.

Adam spent the summer in Italy, studying art through some sort of exchange program scholarship, and Grace missed him more than she thought she would. He always had had a calming affect on her.

Grace was moving up at the paper. She was being assigned more and more articles to write. Grace never forgot her resolve, though, and always finished her work before getting drunk. Unfortunately, between the heat, work and Adam's absense, Grace was drinking more than ever. She was drinking three to four nights a week, instead of two.

Grace was walking to work one day in late August, nursing a hangover. She was wearing very dark glasses, but still felt the sun was unnaturally bright. She was not happy. Her mood was not improved when someone ran into her and made her drop her purse.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," a high voice chirped. Grace resisted the urge to clamp her hands over her ears.

"It's fine," Grace grunted as she scooped her belongings back into her bag.

"It's just, I'm running late, and I _can't_ be late, because the meeting is too important."

"Okay," said Grace.

"Here let me help you; it's my fault your stuff in on the floor." The strange girl bent down to help Grace.

"Uh, thanks."

The finished quickly, and straightened up again. The girl didn't leave.

"Don't you have a meeting to go to?" Grace asked.

"Oh," she said with a start, "I completely forgot. Oh my God, I'm late, and I _can't_ be late."

"You already said that."

"Yes, well, the AA awaits." And with that she dissappeared.

The strange girl didn't leave Grace's thoughts that day. The only AA Grace knew of was Alcoholics Anonymos, but she didn't seem like the type to attend those meetings. Maybe she led them. Grace hoped not; that girl was enough to drive most people to drinking.

xxxxx

Grace christened the chirpy girl Alice because she reminded her of the rabbit in the beginning of the _Alice in Wonderland_. More than once in the following weeks, the sing-song chant of _I'm late, I'm late for a very important date_ ran through her head. It drove her mad.

A billboard was put up just a block away from her work. It asked people to call some number for help with their drinking problem. More than once, the paper ran a story about the stupid things drunk people did.

Grace was finding it harder to explain away her habit. She decided to take control before she became her mother.

Grace sat down to write poetry on the first day of fall. It had always calmed her when she was a teenager, and Grace hoped it would calm her now.

Forty minutes later, she crumpled the paper and threw it away. Grace had lost it; she couldn't get her ideas on paper like she used to. She nearly cried. If she couldn't escape through poetry, then she would have to escape through drinking, and if she continued drinking she would become her mother.

Grace stood up. She would _not_ become her mother. Grace knew she was stronger than that. Grace took a deep breath and prepared herself. It was going to be hard, and she was going to have nights where she hated life, but Grace was ready to quit.

She wandered throughout her apartment, gathering all the liquor. Grace resisted the temptation to keep the bottle of Baccardi's. She had just bought it last week, and it was one of her favorite flavers. Keeping with her plan, though, Grace dumped the contents down the sink and put the now-empty bottle on top of the growing pile.

As Grace was dumping out her second bottle of schnapps, she wondered if the pipes could take all the hard liquor. That stuff can do some serious damage. She turned the facuet on, to distill the liquid a bit.

Grace took all the bottles down to the dumpter. It was nine thirty-seven when she returned to her apartnment. She went to bed.

xxxxx

The first week was hard.

The second week was hell.

Grace didn't make it to the third week.


	10. Chapter Ten

Just want to say a quick thanks to all the readers and reviewers: Thank You!

**Chapter 10**

By the time Grace was twenty five, she had tried to quit drinking four times.

The first time was right after college. It was easily her most pathetic failure, as it failed when she took a drink to celebrate not drinking. Grace shuddered to think she had been that stupid.

The second time was just after she realized she couldn't write poetry anymore. Considering how dependent she was by then, she did pretty well. Grace went just over two weeks without a drop of alcohol. Unfortunately, this attempt was fairly expensive, as she had to replace all the liquor she threw out on her first sober night.

The third attempt hardly qualifies. Grace ran out of beer and called it fate. She lasted three days before deciding that fate was for lazy people, and buying some brandy.

The fourth attempt was just a week before she turned twenty five. Grace went to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, but decided that the leader, Greg, was an idiot and never returned.

Whenever Grace thinks about her failed attempts, she is reminded of a joke she once heard about smoking: "Quitting is easy; I do it once a week. It's not a very funny joke.

xxxxx

Grace lost track of all her old friends sometime between the second and third attempt. Her friendships with Joan and Adam died out naturally, as they both moved away and all of them went on with their lives. Her relationship with Luke ended with a bang.

Luke showed up on Grace's doorstep on February 11.

"Hello, Grace."

"Luke? What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised.

"Felt like saying 'hi,'" he said with a shrug.

"Then pick up a phone," Grace said crossly.

"Can I come in?" he asked pointedly.

Grace stepped back to let him in without a word.

"So… how're you?" he asked.

"Good. You?"

"Pretty good."

"That's good."

"Yep."

They stared at each other for a few moments. Finally, Grace walked away.

"Grace, where are you going?" Luke called after her.

"Getting us some drinks. It's possible for me to be polite, Luke."

"I never said it wasn't," Luke muttered to himself. Grace made no answer.

She stalked back in and gave him a can of soda. Both of them sat down on the couch.

"Can I ask you something, Grace?"

"You drove all this way," she said. Luke took this as an invitation to ask his question.

"Why are you calling me 'Luke?' You never used to."

"I—what?" she asked, flustered.

"You used to call me 'Girardi.' What changed?" he asked.

"Nothing changed," Grace said quickly.

Luke stared at her, and Grace found herself fighting the insane desire to kick him out of her apartment.

"Shit, Grace, could you make this any harder for me?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Make _what_ harder for you?" she asked, her voice equally strangled.

"I don't think I ever stopped loving you, and I'm not convinced you ever stopped loving me. I can't be _sure_, though, because you've closed yourself off from all of us," he said in a rush.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you, Girardi?" she asked angrily. She couldn't believe he was springing this on her so suddenly.

"Oh, so we're back to 'Girardi,' now," he said.

"Stop being an asshole," she said. "Why are you here?"

"This is the anniversary of your mom's death, and I wanted to see if you were okay," he said quietly. His anger had drained away as quickly as it had appeared. Now he just sounded tired.

Grace's breath caught in her throat.

"You remembered that?" she said, once she could breathe again.

"Have you been listening to me at all, Grace? I just said I think I'm still in love with you. Of course I remember the day your mom died, and of course I want to be sure you're okay on that day."

"Well, I'm doing okay. How about you?" she asked shakily.

"We already had this conversation, and honestly, it was stupid enough the first time. No need to repeat it," he said flatly.

Neither said a word. Grace stared at the can of soda in her hand, and Luke stared at Grace.

"Grace, if you ever need to talk to someone, call me. Visit me," he begged softly.

"I don't need you," she said, looking up at him.

"Maybe not," he said, "but if you ever… ever _want_ me, I'll be there for you."

"Why?" Grace asked, the vulnerability breaking through.

"Honestly, Grace? I don't know."

"Um, same to you, Luke; if you ever need someone, you can call me," she said awkwardly.

"I'm not sure you really mean that, but thank you," he said with a smile.

"You're welcome," she said softly.

"Do you mind if I raid your fridge?" Luke asked. "I'm starved."

"Go for it," Grace said, relieved that the conversations had moved to safer topics.

Luke walked into the kitchen, but Grace remained on the couch. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel. Part of her was happy to see Luke, but an even larger part of her was scared. She was confused, tired and depressed. It was, after all, the anniversary of her mother's death.

"Grace Polk," Luke said sharply, "what the _hell_ is this?"

"Oh, shit," Grace breathed. He had opened the cupboard by the refrigerator.

"Why do you have so much liquor, Grace?" he asked when she entered the kitchen.

"I throw parties for the people at the paper," she said lamely, "and they expect me to have drinks for them."

"You throw parties," Luke said, clearly not believing her.

"Yes, I do," she said.

"Grace, tell me truth."

"I am telling you the truth," she said angrily.

"I've always been honest with you, Grace. Return the favor."

Grace stared at him with crossed arms.

"Fine," he said sharply, "be that way. I'm leaving."

And he did.

Grace sat down at the kitchen table and considered crying. She considered writing some poetry. She even considered going to temple.

Instead, Grace poured herself a shot of vodka.

xxxxx

xxxxx

The drama will be continued shortly…


	11. Chapter Eleven

Read on, dear friends, and enjoy.

**Chapter 11**

The holiday season following Grace's twenty-fifth birthday wasn't in any way cheerful. It snowed too much—and it was that nasty brown snow that gets your socks wet—the paper Grace worked at didn't give her the raise she was due and Grace only saw her dad once. She celebrated the New Year alone.

Two days into the New Year, Grace ate at her favorite Chinese restaurant. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that looked like the food could kill you, but was actually delicious.

As always, Grace ordered it to go. While she was waiting for the food to be ready, Grace took a fortune cookie from the tray by the register. Hungry, Grace took the wrapper off and made to eat the cookie. A very unwelcomed voice stopped her.

_If you eat it now, your fortune won't come true_, Joan's voice said.

_Where the hell did that come from?_ Grace asked herself. Annoyed, Grace broke the cookie in half.

_Don't read the fortune!_ Joan's voice shrieked in Grace's mind. _You have to eat the cookie first_.

Grace was starting to wonder if she was drunk. The only time she had pointless conversations with non-existent people was when she was under the influence. But Grace hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day. In fact, Grace realized, she hadn't had any since New Year's Eve.

The realization that she wasn't drunk, however, did little to improve Grace's mood. After all, that meant she was arguing with Joan's voice while in control of her wits.

Now thoroughly annoyed, Grace yanked the fortune out of the cookie.

"It's always darkest before dawn," the slip of paper read.

Grace ate the cookie and threw the fortune away. Her food was ready shortly after that, and Grace gave the fortune no more thought.

xxxxx

The alarm woke Grace up at 6:35 in the morning. She got up with a sigh and went to take a shower.

Twenty minutes later, Grace was searching frantically through her clothes. She had no pants on. Cursing to herself, Grace realized she hadn't picked up the dry cleaning the day before. She searched through the pile of dirty clothes by her bed. Finding a pair of pants that were only slightly wrinkled, Grace pulled them on.

Grace finished getting ready quickly, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. She flipped on the television.

"Thanks for the report, Kim," the blonde anchorman said to his brunette counterpart. "And now let's go to Michael Grant with the weather."

Michael Grant, oddly tan for mid-January, appeared on the television. Grace half-listened to the report as she bustled around the kitchen.

"Good Morning, New York," he said cheerfully, "Good to know you're up and about, even if the sun isn't. That's right, folks, it's going to be another cloudy day. It shouldn't snow until Tuesday, though, so don't wear your heaviest coats to work today!"

Grace looked over at the television, disgusted that someone could be this excited about the weather this early in the morning. She snapped the television off before it could make her headache any worse.

Grace hated the mornings after she drank.

xxxxx

As had been planned the day before, Grace met with her editor at ten-thirty. She walked out of the editor's office at ten-fifty and went to sit at her desk. She turned off her computer. She opened her desk drawers and put her belongings into her purse. Vaguely, Grace marveled at how few personal belongings she had brought to work.

Grace sighed just as the editor's secretary walked by.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Landing said kindly, "I'm so sorry about everything."

Had any other person in the office said this to her, Grace would have lashed out. But Mrs. Landing had such a calm, comfortable demeanor that Grace had never been able to help liking her.

Grace smiled sadly at the woman.

"You're such a good writer, dear," Mrs. Landing said. "You'll get another job."

"How do you know?" Grace asked.

"Well, didn't you know?" Mrs. Landing asked in her kind voice, "I'm omniscient."

"Are you?" Grace asked tiredly.

"I am."

"Then you knew I was going to be fired?"

"I did."

"Thanks for the warning," Grace muttered.

"It's not my place to directly intervene," Mrs. Landing explained. "I'm a big fan of free will."

"I'm a big fan of having a job," Grace snapped, finally loosing her cool.

"This is a new opportunity for you, Grace," Mrs. Landing said. "You should—"

"I swear to God," Grace interrupted, "if you give me any of that 'when God closes a door, He opens a window' bullshit, I will have to hurt you. Even if you are old and nice."

"Things will work out in the end, Grace Polanski, if you're willing to make connections," Mrs. Landing said serenely.

"How do you know my old last name?" Grace breathed.

"I told you, Ms. Polanski, I know everything."

Mrs. Landing walked away. Just as she was about to turn the corner, she gave an odd backward wave. Grace sat at her desk for a few moments before pulling herself together and walking out of the building with her head held high.

xxxxx

A week later, Grace was still jobless. She had put in job applications at a few companies—even had one job interview—but nothing seemed right.

Grace was getting desperate. She only had enough money to pay rent for January. If she didn't get a job soon, she would be homeless in February.

Grace heated up some pizza and sat down at the kitchen table. It was time to do some thinking.

The way Grace saw it, she had three options. She could get the first job she was offered and keep living as she had been. She could borrow money from her dad, and float until she found a good job. Or, she could move out, sell her furniture to earn some money and start over somewhere new.

Grace didn't like her current life enough to choose Option One, and Option Two was unacceptable—Grace Polk did not borrow money. That only left her with Option Three.

_Well_, Grace thought as she finished a slice, _I guess I'm starting over_.

The next hurdle was deciding where she would start over. Anywhere in New York was out of the question; Grace needed a real change. She liked city life, though, so she started naming all the cities she could think of.

Boston? Too historical.

Miami? Too many clubs.

Los Angeles? Too many cars.

San Francisco? Too many hippies.

Chicago? Too windy.

Atlanta? Too Southern.

Phoenix? Too boring.

Houston? Too much country music.

New Jersey? Actually, New Jersey didn't sound so bad. Didn't sound all that great, either, but it would do.

Having decided to move to New Jersey, Grace started searching the apartment for stuff she could sell. She needed to scrounge up enough money for at least one month's rent.

Grace went to a second-hand store the next day and bargained for forty-five minutes with an older gentleman who desperately needed a bath. They finally agreed on a price, and he promised to send some guys over the next day to get her furniture. Next, Grace went the Rent-A-Car station and put a hold on the cheapest car she could find. Satisfied that she was making the right decision, but noticeably unexcited about the big move, Grace walked back to her apartment.

A package was waiting for her. Grace nearly fainted when she saw the return address. What could Joan possibly want to send her?

Grace ripped the brown paper off the box. An envelope was taped to the top. Oddly nervous, Grace opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter.

_Hi, Grace_

_How are you? It's been ages since we saw each other. I hope you're well._

_I moved back to Arcadia a few months ago. My company (I work for a publishing house) opened an office here, and I figured I might as well transfer here. Who says you can't go home again? Besides, I didn't like Florida very much. The great thing about moving because of your job is that they pack up all your junk for you, then ship it to the new place. I had to unpack, though, and that's been a drag. I only just finished last week._

_I found a bunch of old high school stuff in one of the boxes. I honestly had no idea I still had some of that crap. A fair amount of it wasn't even mine, too, so I figured I should return it. If you think your box is big, you should see Adam's. _

_Do you keep in touch with Adam? I do, sort of. He seems happy. I hope you are._

_I'm pretty happy. I like my job, and I'm pretty sure the guy at the coffee house that I have a crush on is going to ask me out. Mom and Dad are good. Dad's retiring soon, so they might move to California. Yeah, I was shocked, too. Kevin married Beth and they have twin girls. They only live a few blocks from me, so I baby-sit a lot. I'm thinking about stopping now that the girls can walk, though. It's amazing how quickly they get away from you. I nearly had a heart attack last week when Jenna disappeared. Don't worry, though, she was just in the laundry room. Luke's almost finished at Caltech. I'm not sure what he's going to do next. I don't think he knows either._

_Well, enjoy looking at our crap. I hope you don't mind, but I returned your yearbook. Remember when you gave it to me, and said you'd pay twice as much as it cost to forget half the people in there? I'm sorry I didn't burn it like you asked me to. I'm also sorry I never read your copy of Locke's _Second Treatise on_… something. Why can't you read anything with normal titles? Okay, and I have noidea I how ended up with a pair of those horrible boots you used to wear. Please, tell me you no longer wear that kind of stuff. The leather jacket I can deal with; the boots are just too much._

_Enjoy the trip down memory lane._

_-Joan_

Grace read the letter twice through, then opened the box. On the top was a shirt she used to sleep in. She must have left it at the Girardi house during one of the sleepovers Joan used to force her into. Folded into the shirt were some pictures. Grace set them aside and dug deeper into the box. She pulled out her boots, and was pleased to see they still fit. Next out of the box was a bright red scarf. Grace couldn't remember the story behind that one. She pulled out some smaller objects next: a weird rock, a purple pen and a keychain that read "Shut Up!" Grace decided right then and there that high school had been stranger than she remembered. She tossed those things to the side and looked into the box. All that was left was Locke's _Second Treatise on Government_ and her yearbook. Grace didn't even bother taking those out. She had meant it when she told Joan to burn her yearbook, and she just couldn't bring herself to get as worked up over politics as she used to.

Grace considered looking through the pictures, but decided that was a bad idea. She'd run out of liquor the night before, and wasn't feeling up to looking at those pictures without a stiff drink.

As Grace shoved the stuff back into the box, a phrase from Joan's letter kept playing through her mind. _Who says you can't go home again?_

Could she go home again? Nothing was stopping her. Grace could live in a crappy apartment in Arcadia just as well as she could in New Jersey. And it would make her dad happy if she was closer. Joan would probably like it, too.

It would be harder to hide her habit in Arcadia, though. In fact, Grace suspected it would be impossible. Joan was very nosy.

_Maybe that wouldn't be so bad_, Grace thought as she pushed the box under her table. _I never meant for this to be a life-long habit._

As Grace got ready for bed that night, she grew more and more excited about moving to Arcadia. It would be hard—she'd have to give up drinking completely—but it would be nice to be back with people who knew her and liked her.

xxxxx

xxxxx

Thanks for reading. Next chapter will be up shortly.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Thank you for the kind reviews.

Disclaimer: As well as not owning _Joan of Arcadia_, I am in no way related to Pop Tarts or any other brand names you may see.

**Chapter 12**

A week after moving to Arcadia, Grace decided to drop by Joan's place.

Grace banged on the door. Joan opened it and promptly dropped the laundry basket she had been holding. The look on her face was priceless.

"Hey, Girardi," Grace said. "You gonna let me in?"

"Grace," Joan breathed, "come in, come in."

Completely disregarding the clothes on the floor (Grace hoped they weren't fresh from the washing machine) Joan ushered Grace into her apartment.

"How are you? What are you doing here? How's work? Do you have a boyfriend? How long are you staying?" Joan asked excitedly as they sat on the couch.

"Slow down, Girardi, I can only answer one question at a time."

"You mean you're actually going to answer?" Joan asked, surprised.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, please, you know what it means. When was the last time you _voluntarily_ talked about your personal life?"

"Okay, there's some truth there," Grace conceded, "but I'm more mature now."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

Grace just smiled.

"Alright, then," Joan said after a pause, "how are you?"

"Pretty good."

"You're not going to give me details, are you?"

"Nope."

"Glad to know you're still you," Joan said.

"That may be the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say," Grace said awkwardly.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Joan said. "So, tell me, what _are_ you doing here?"

"I moved here," Grace said.

"You're kidding me."

Grace shook her head. Joan squealed and threw herself at Grace. Grace made sure the hug was short.

"When? Why? Where do you live? Where do you work?"

"Leave time for me to answer the questions, Girardi," Grace snapped. She was smiling, though.

"Answer away," Joan commanded. She mimed locking her mouth shut and throwing away the key. With an eye roll, Grace continued.

"The paper fired me a few weeks ago," she said bluntly, ignoring Joan's gasp, "and I couldn't find another job that I liked, so I decided to move. I was going to move to New Jersey—don't ask—but then I got your letter and figured, what the hell? I might as well move back home, too."

"So that's why He… I did wonder…" Joan muttered to herself.

"Joan?"

"What? Oh, sorry. Continue."

"There isn't anything else," Grace said, still looking at Joan strangely.

"Of course there is, Grace," Joan said. "Where are you living? How long have you been here?"

"I've been here just over a week. I live in those apartments off Oak Street, and I'm currently looking for a job and some furniture. That's everything, right?"

"I can't believe you really moved back," Joan said.

"Thought you'd never see me again, did you?" Grace joked.

Much to Grace's surprise and annoyance, Joan gave a tearful nod and swept Grace into another hug.

"Girardi, you do that one more time and I'm leaving," Grace threatened.

"To go where?" Joan scoffed. "Back to your furniture-less apartment?"

"I have _some_ furniture," Grace protested. "And I actually do have somewhere to be."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Grace said. "I'll have you know I have a job interview in an hour, and then I'm meeting my dad for dinner."

"Oh, I bet he's thrilled you're back," Joan said happily.

"He doesn't know yet," Grace said. "I'm telling him tonight."

"He'll be thrilled."

Grace nodded. They started talking about the rest of the Girardis and Joan's most recent date with the coffee house man. Grace laughed out loud when she learned his name was Joe. Joan was quite offended.

A half hour later, Grace had to leave for the interview. Joan pulled her into yet another hug and made her promise to meet for lunch the next day.

xxxxx

The day after surprising Joan and her dad, Grace went grocery shopping. She had been living on fast food and take-out since she moved, and was ready for some real food.

Grace resigned herself to only buying store brand names, and had even clipped coupons in an attempt to save money. She still didn't have a job, though she felt confident about her interview from the previous day.

Grace was debating if she should go back to the cereal aisle for Pop Tarts when she reached aisle eighteen and froze.

She gripped the handle of the cart tightly and peered down the aisle. An older woman with bad hair was clutching a huge bottle of rum, and a boy who couldn't possibly be old enough to buy this stuff was inspecting the Schnapps display. Grace desperately wanted to shove the boy out of her way and buy four bottles of the stuff. Quite clearly, she saw herself snatching the rum from the old lady's hand and making a dash for the register.

Grace took a step toward the bottles. She shook her head and backed up again. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and walked down the aisle. She stopped in front of the vodka bottles and completely ignored the looks the young boy was shooting at her.

Grace kept a death-grip on the cart, willing her hands to stay where they were. She was not going to reach for the liquor. She was going to walk away, and live a happy, productive life without vodka or tequila or rum or any of that shit.

Grace watched with detached horror as she picked out the Black Cherry flavor of her favorite vodka.

As she left the aisle, the bottle taunted her. She shouldn't have set it right on the top like that. Grace shoved it under the bread and set off to find Pop Tarts.

xxxxx

Grace took a long time putting her groceries away. She had to figure out a system for her new kitchen. For reasons she didn't understand, Grace liked having an organized kitchen.

Once satisfied that her kitchen was arranged perfectly, Grace wandered around the house. She was bored out of her mind.

She tried reading, but couldn't find a book that held her interest. She tried setting up her stereo so she could listen to music, but couldn't find all the cords. She even wished (if only for a moment) that she a television to occupy the time.

Out of desperation, she called Joan's cell. Upon hearing Grace was bored, Joan invited her to dinner with Kevin and Beth. Grace surprised even herself when she agreed.

xxxxx

Later that night, while inspecting the grocery store, the manager was surprised to find a bottle of vodka shoved behind the Pop Tart display. Muttering under his breath about kids these days, he returned the bottle to its proper place.

xxxxx

xxxxx

We're nearing the end, folks. Thanks for making it this far.

And thanks to Jane and Adam for noticing the mistake. I hope it got fixed before too many people saw.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Once again, I thank all you lovely readers and reviewers. Hope this chapter pleases.

**Chapter 13**

Grace leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. She sighed deeply and a piece of dirty blonde hair swept into her eyes. She left it there.

She sat there for a good ten minutes, the frown growing more and more pronounced.

Grace was sitting at her kitchen table, glowering at the tequila bottle in front of her. The damn thing was half empty, and Grace was doing everything in her power to make sure it stayed half full.

This brought to mind an interesting question. Exactly how optimistic was she? Did she think the glass was half full or half empty?

Grace laughed at herself as she scrunched down. Once she was eye-level to the bottle, she decided that the bottle was _just_ under half full. That, unfortunately, did not answer her question.

Optimist or Pessimist?

It's not a hard question, really. Optimist or Pessimist? Faith or No Faith? Idealist or Cynic? Hopeful or Resigned?

_C'mon, Polk_, she berated herself, _are you an optimist or a pessimist? There's only two choices—an easy decision, and you know it._

Hm, now the bottle was only a third full. How odd.

"I am an optimist," Grace decided.

Silence.

"I am a pessimist," she asserted.

Ringing silence.

"Who the bloody hell cares?" she asked the kitchen.

The room spun slightly.

"When did I turn British?" she slurred. "Bloody wankers, the lot of them."

She giggled helplessly. She'd always wanted to go to Britain.

Grace awoke the next morning with only the haziest memory of her drinking binge. She decided to call that a blessing and went to work without a second thought.

xxxxx

"Dammit, Joan," Grace exclaimed before quickly lowering her voice, "what did I tell you about visiting me at work?"

"I am not to surprise you at work unless copious amounts of blood are outside of the body, I have won the lottery and am willing to share, or God Himself has asked me to come," she repeated dully.

"Is anyone bleeding?" Grace asked.

"No."

"Did you win the lottery?"

"Oh, no. I didn't even play this week."

"And did God direct you here?"

"Yes, Grace," she said sarcastically, "during one of our morning chats He asked me to pick up the newest Barbara Kingsolver novel. He hears it's quite good."

"I've never understood why you take so much offense to the idea that God tells you to come here," Grace said.

Joan didn't answer.

"Why are you here, Girardi?"

"I wanted to remind you to come to my dinner party thingy tonight."

"Your dinner party _thingy_?"

"Well, if you'd prefer I call it the Macaroni Meet 'n' Greet as Joe does…"

"Um, no."

"Alright, then. You'll be at my dinner party thingy?"

"I promised I would." Grace looked like she was seriously regretting the promise.

"Good," Joan said, "if you show up, I promise I won't surprise you at work for a whole month."

Well, damn. Girardi was smarter than she looked.

xxxxx

Grace had been living in Arcadia for four months. She worked as a third manager for the local Border's. It was an ideal job for her; she got to boss around idiot teenager and direct ignorant customers to books that might change their minds. It was a game to see if she could convince hard-core Republicans to buy the latest Michael Moore book. Plus, the hours were flexible and the pay decent. She liked her life in Arcadia.

Of course, nothing was perfect. Two weeks ago, Adam's dad suffered a stroke. He was fine now, but Adam still hadn't returned to Florida. In fact, he seemed quite prepared to move into the old shed. Grace smiled evilly, remembering the phone conversation she had overheard a few days ago. His girlfriend, Nicole, wasn't very happy about his prolonged stay. She had been especially upset when Adam mentioned Joan.

Grace had decided at that moment that Nicole was an idiot. Joan was still with her coffee house boy, despite Grace's insistence that their names didn't work together. Joan and Joe sounded like bouncy identical twins, _not_ a twenty-something year-old couple. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Joe worked for a coffee house. It was disgusting.

Anyway, Nicole had decided to come out to Arcadia, causing Joan to decide that everyone should get together. She had convinced Joe (an excellent chef, even Grace had to admit) to cook something for them all. Grace figured the night couldn't be too bad; Joe did make excellent macaroni.

The thought of the macaroni was the only thing that got her through the rest of her day. When she got off at four thirty—almost an hour after she was supposed to—she hurried home to change.

Just as she was about to leave for dinner, she noticed the blinking light of her message machine. Fully expecting it to be Joan, she swore and smacked the 'play' button.

"Hey, Grace," Luke's voice said. Grace froze. "Um, how are you? I'll be seeing you tonight at the dinner thing, so you can tell me then. Just wanted to let you know I'd be there. Look, don't tell Joan I left this message. She said I was supposed to be a surprise. Oh, and don't kill her, please. Idiot she may be, she's still my big sister and I kinda like her. Uh… see you later. Bye."

Well.

_That_ was a surprise.

Despite Luke's plea, Grace considered killing Joan. Or, at the very least, giving her a broken bone. Honestly, who would blame her?

Grace shook her head slightly and left the apartment. Time to face the music.

xxxxx

Adam and Joan were sitting in the living room when Grace showed up. Adam seemed a bit shell-shocked, and Joan gave him a warning look. With a resigned sigh, he got up to greet Grace.

"Rove," Grace said.

"Polk," he answered.

"Girardi," Grace directed at Joan.

"Hi, Grace," she said brightly. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"A Coke would be nice," Grace said.

"I'll go get it." Joan hopped up and practically ran to the kitchen.

"What's with Girardi?" Grace asked as she settled herself on the sofa. Grace suspected she knew already, but was curious to see what Adam would say.

"She's worried about tonight," Adam said tightly.

"Why should she be?"

"She doesn't think Nicole will like her," Adam said, "which I keep telling her is ridiculous."

"Oh, come on, Rove, you know Nicole will hate her."

"Why do you guys keep saying that?"

"Look, you and Girardi have this connection, you know you do, and any sane girlfriend would be jealous of it."

"Now _that_ is ridiculous."

"No it's not," Grace said with a patience that surprised both of them. Silence fell over the old friends.

"What's taking Joan so long?" Grace asked eventually. "I'm thirsty."

"Oh," Adam smirked, "maybe Joe needed some help?"

"Joe's in the kitchen?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh, God," Grace moaned. "I'll never get my Coke."

"It's not looking good," Adam agreed.

"How much you want to bet he lets the garlic bread burn?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Last time Joan stuck her tongue down his throat he managed to ruin the meatballs," Grace explained, "he doesn't take distractions well."

"I love garlic bread," Adam whined, "he better not burn it."

"Go interrupt them, then," Grace dared.

"You could not pay me enough to go into that kitchen right now."

Grace's laugh was cut short by a knock on the door. Adam answered it, and pulled Nicole into a hug. Grace's shoulders slumped in relief. She wasn't ready to see Luke yet.

"Hello, Grace," Nicole said.

"Hi."

"Nice to finally meet you," she said politely, "I've heard so much about you. Seems you and Adam grew up together."

"We go back a ways," Grace agreed. Okay, she didn't seem too bad. Overly polite, maybe, but Adam could have done a lot worse.

"Um, I brought some wine for us all," she said hesitantly. "Should I go put it in the fridge?"

Never mind. That girl was an absolute bitch. Grace glared at Adam.

"Nicole, honey," he said, stepping between the two women, "why don't I show you were the kitchen is. Grace, we'll be right back."

"Bring me back a Coke," she said testily.

Grace glared at the couple as the walked toward the kitchen. Adam was whispering something into Nicole's ear and she was nodding sadly. Grace didn't want to know what he was saying.

The doorbell rang, but before anyone had a chance to react, Kevin and Beth invited themselves in. They joined Grace in the living room. A few seconds later, Adam returned with sodas for everyone.

"Where are Joan and Nicole?" Kevin asked.

"They went to Joan's bedroom," Adam said.

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Shoes were mentioned," Adam explained.

Kevin chuckled slightly. Beth glared at him. Grace rolled her eyes.

Joe popped his head out of the kitchen and said hello to everyone. They all said hello back and fell into small talk. Joan and Nicole appeared and joined in.

Grace didn't really pay attention to the conversation around her. She was going to see Luke that night. Any minute he could show up. She didn't know how to feel about this. A large part of her was pissed at Joan for the whole thing, but another part of her was happy at the thought of seeing Luke again. Then there was the part of her that was ashamed of her behavior the last time they met. And then, because she wasn't confused enough already, a part of her really wanted to break down and tell Luke everything. But she couldn't do that, not with everyone watching.

Oh, God. A terrible thought occurred to her. What if she started _crying_ when he showed up? No, she wouldn't. She couldn't.

_The bastard_, she thought viciously, _how can he late?_

A timer went off in the kitchen and Joe ran to the stove. Beth and Joan got up to set the table.

"I wonder when Luke will get here," Kevin said. "He's not usually late."

"Joan's going to die," Grace muttered. Luckily, only Nicole heard her. Grace smiled brightly at Nicole, who decided to remain silent.

"He probably just lost track of time," Adam said.

"Well, he better get here soon," Kevin said. "I'm hungry and you know Joan won't let us start without him."

"Well, aren't you the nicest big brother in the world," Nicole joked. Grace really didn't know what to make of that girl. One minute she seemed scared of her own shadow, the next she was teasing Kevin.

Joe walked in from the kitchen, still wearing potholders.

"Dinner," he announced grandly, "is served."

"It is not!" Joan stood in front of the dinning room with crossed arms, daring anyone to enter.

"Dinner," Joe corrected just as grandly, "will be served shortly."

"Oh, my God," Grace breathed. Would this night never end? And where the hell was Luke?

There was a knock on the door, and Grace almost laughed at the timing. Joan rushed to the door, flung it open and threw herself into Luke's arms.

"Hey, Joan," he said, "long time, no see."

"What possessed you to move to California, you dork?" she asked him.

"Why didn't I get that greeting when I came back from Florida?" Adam asked quietly.

"Don't start the wounded puppy act, Rove," Grace warned, "it's beyond annoying."

Adam might have responded to her, but Grace wasn't paying attention. Luke's eyes had caught her's.

Kevin, completely oblivious to the tension in the room, rolled over to his brother and gave him a slap on the back.

"Good to see you again, Luke."

"You, too, Kev," Luke managed to spit out.

"When did you get in?"

"Last night, around eleven," he answered, eyes never leaving Grace's. Kevin finally seemed to realize he didn't have Luke's attention. He shifted around, caught the look between Luke and Grace, smiled widely and headed toward Beth.

Grace got up, hands shaking only slightly.

"Hello, Grace," Luke said hesitantly.

"Luke," she said quietly.

Nicole looked like she was about to say something, but Adam shushed her. Joan was looking back and forth between the two, her forehead creased in worry. Joe looked confused.

"How are you?" Grace asked.

"I'm good," he answered. "You?"

"Pretty good."

"Oh, for God's _sake_," Beth burst out, "would you please hug or cry or… or do _something_."

Everyone in the room stared at her. She blushed deeply, but held her head up high.

"C'mon, guys," she said in a calmer tone, "I barely know the both of you, but even I can feel the tension between you. One of you has to give."

"My money's on Luke," Kevin said with a smile. "He was the pansy in their relationship."

Luke shot him a look of pure loathing.

"I'm not sure," Adam said, "Grace always did like him more than she let on."

Grace rounded on Adam. Looks like both Joan and Adam were dying tonight. Shame, really.

"No, it'll be Luke," Joan said. "Grace is too stubborn."

"It's gotta be Grace," Nicole said. Grace grit her teeth; this was unbelievable. "Look how pale she is. She's about to do something big."

"I don't know," Joe said, "from what I've heard, Luke's the one who did all the work when they were together. Anything big will be done by him."

"Exactly what have you heard?" Grace snapped.

"Nothing," Joe lied quickly.

"I'm sorry, but do I know either of you?" Luke asked.

Joe and Nicole shook their heads sheepishly.

"Um, Joe, this is my brother, Luke. Luke, that's Joe, my boyfriend," Joan said quickly.

"And, uh, this is Nicole," Adam said. "Nicole, this is Joan's younger brother, Luke."

"Nice to meet you," Luke said civilly. "Now, can we please eat? I'm starving."

"I like you," Joe said. "Hurry up, everyone. It won't taste as good cold."

All things considered, the meal went pretty well. Grace and Luke, of course, were forced to sit next to each other. They didn't talk much, but what they did say was pleasant enough, if a bit forced. Grace mainly talked to Beth, who was sitting across from her. Turns out the newest Barbara Kingsolver book was pretty good.

In fact, if Grace had left as soon as dinner was over, she could have called the evening a success. Unfortunately for all involved, Joe let it slip he had made cherry pie, and Grace never left without some of Joe's cherry pie.

"Oh, I forgot," Nicole said suddenly as they were eating dessert in the living room, "I brought wine for us all."

Luke and Adam exchanged panicked glances.

"That's okay," Joan said quickly. "We'll drink it another time."

"Oh, no," Nicole said, "it's a perfect after-dinner wine."

"I don't care if it's freaking _Cakebread_," Luke snarled, "we'll save it for another time."

"Luke, calm down," Adam snapped.

The silence stretched. Tension grew. Finally, Grace couldn't take it anymore.

"Nice seeing you all," she choked out as she gathered her things. "Dinner was delicious, Joe. Good-bye."

And with that, Grace left the apartment. Luke followed her.

"We were so close," Joan said sadly, "to getting through the evening without a crisis. So close."

xxxxx

xxxxx

This is the first time I've ever tried a cliff-hanger. You're dying to know what happens after Luke follows her, right? _Right?_ Well, you should be; it's quite important. (ooh, I think that may have been a teaser)

I'm fairly certain the above paragraph is proof I've lost my mind. I'll find it before finishing the next chapter, I promise.

FYI: Cakebread is a wine company. It's very expensive and, from what I've heard, one of the best.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Ramblings: Glad to see you're back. This chapter takes up right after the last; Luke has just followed Grace out of Joan's apartment.

**Chapter 14**

Luke sprinted down the hallway, determined to reach Grace. He didn't know why it was so important, but he knew he had to see her. He _had_ to.

Grace stabbed the elevator button again. She tapped her foot. She jiggled her purse.

Luke skidded to a halt when he reached the elevators. _Thank God,_ he thought. She was still there. Without thinking, Luke strode up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Grace hadn't noticed he was there. She nearly yelled in surprise when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She controlled herself, though, and after a quick glance at his face, returned to watching the elevator door.

They stood in silence for a few moments. The elevator door opened and an older woman stepped out. They stepped aside and let her pass, then walked into the elevator.

Luke pressed the 'G' and the doors closed. As soon as the elevator started moving, Luke turned his attention to Grace. She squirmed for a moment, and was thankful they had the elevator to themselves.

"So," Grace said after going down one floor, "you're not a fan of Cakebread, are you?"

"Well," Luke answered lightly, "I'm not a fan of their red wine, but their chardonnays are divine."

"Are they?"

Luke nodded solemnly.

"You've never had a bottle of Cakebread in your life, have you, geek?"

"Do you really think I have that kind of money?"

"Yeah, I couldn't afford it, either."

"It's expensive wine," Luke agreed. The door opened and they both walked out into the lobby. Grace was about to step outside when Luke grabbed her elbow.

"Grace, please, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Grace stared at him. _What the hell_, she figured, _it couldn't hurt_. She nodded, and he smiled.

"Let's go get a cup of coffee," he suggested.

Grace nodded again.

"Good," Luke smiled. "Now, do you know where the nearest coffee house is?"

"Just down the block," Grace said. "It's where Joan and Joe met."

"How romantic."

They reached the coffee house quickly. After ordering their drinks, they settled into some cushy seats by the fake fireplace.

"How was California?" Grace asked. "Meet any hippies?"

"Can't say that I did. Of course, hippies tend to avoid science labs, so the state might be full of them, and I have no idea."

Luke took her smile as an invitation to continue. As he talked about his life California, Grace found herself distracted. She was feeling very safe. It was odd, and would have been disturbing if it didn't feel so good.

Grace wondered how long Luke would be staying in town. Maybe he was moving back, too? That would be nice. That's all, though. It would simply be nice. It's not like Luke's presence would have an actual impact on her life or anything. Really, she could care less where he lived.

So, alright, yes, sometimes it would be nice he lived nearby. Grace could admit that. She could admit that she kind of liked the guy, even if he did know too much for his own good.

Hell, she could even admit that she trusted him in a way she had never even trusted her parents.

_I trust him_, she thought to herself. Grace completely ignored the happy bubble in her chest. It was of no importance.

Logic kicked in when Luke started talking about the friends he had made at the lab. Trust him she might, but did she know him? Did he know her?

No.

That was a problem, Grace realized, that could only be fixed with time.

Really, the whole thing was a mess. Grace simply did not understand why she liked this boy so much.

Wait just one second. Grace studied him quickly and made a correction. She did not understand why she liked this _man_ so much. He certainly had grown up nicely.

Grace suddenly noticed that he had stopped talking. She hoped he hadn't noticed her complete disregard of his words. That could lead to awkward questions she had no intention of answering.

"Your turn, Grace," he said.

"My turn?"

"Yeah, it's your turn to talk about your life." He looked at her expectantly. "How are you?"

Grace knew, right then, that her answer would affect the rest of her life. She didn't understand why she knew this, but she accepted it. This was her turning point.

Now, which way to turn?

She needed a moment to think. She needed to understand.

Grace took a drink of coffee.

Answer One: She tells Luke the truth. She tells that she'd been in Arcadia a few months, works at the bookstore and meets up with Joan sometimes. She tells him that she long ago gave up being angry at her dad, and now enjoys a fairly good relationship with him. Luke smiles sadly, completely aware she is hiding something, but says nothing. They chat a little, he leaves, and Grace continues her with her life. No risk, no reward.

Answer Two: She tells Luke the real truth. She tells him that moving to Arcadia took every once of her courage. She tells him that, though she tries again and again, she just can't give up drinking. She risks the look of horror on his face, the sadness that would overtake him, and admits to her addiction. Maybe Luke offers helps. Huge risks, unknown rewards. Scary as hell.

Grace set her coffee cup down slowly. This was her moment. This was when she decided what path to follow. She could follow in her mother's footsteps, or she could follow her own path. Cheesy, yes, but there you have it.

She looked up at Luke. He'd been oddly patient while she prepared her answer. Grace took a shuddering breath and told him the truth.

"I got drunk last night, Luke. I get drunk a lot. I don't know why, and I can't stop it."

The whole truth. She told him the whole damn truth.

Luke stared at her. His eyes were just as piercing as they used to be, she noted. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes bore into her. It was intense, and Grace fought to maintain eye contact. She would not let him stare her down. She may be a drunk, but she had her pride.

"You can stop, Grace," he finally said. He stretched out a hand and Grace surprised him by grabbing it. He glanced down at their hands.

"I've tried," Grace said. "I've tried so many times."

"No, you haven't. When you try, you succeed. You haven't tried."

"You bastard," Grace hissed, snatching her hand back, "I'm _always_ trying. I try when I'm going to work with a headache. I try when I walk past the liquor in the grocery store. I try every February, when I remember when… when she died. I moved back to Arcadia so I could try. I went to AA meetings, told my secrets to a room full of freaks. Don't give me this bullshit about not _trying_."

"Grace," he said evenly, "you are stronger than this. If you wanted to quit, you would."

"It's not a _choice_, Girardi. It's a sickness."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Pick up a damn psych book."

"So, why are you telling me, then?" he asked. "You want a 'get well' card?"

"I want to go to work without a hangover."

"Then stop buying tequila."

Grace was going to kill him. She was going to smash his head in with the hideous lamp on her left. And she would enjoy, too. The heartless idiot.

"Oh, Grace," he said suddenly, "I'm so sorry."

He hugged her and she cried into his shoulder.

It was a short cry. His shirt was barely damp when she gave a loud sniff, shook her head quickly and pulled away. Luke tensed for a moment, and tried to hold on, but he let her move back.

They sat stiffly in their chairs, not touching and only risking the quickest of glances. Finally, Luke broke the silence.

"Do you want to quit?"

Grace threw him a dirty look and nodded.

"Alright then," he nodded.

"Then _what_, Girardi?"

"Then quit," he said simply.

"I already told you; it's not that easy. I can't go more than three or four days without it."

"You're half-way there, Grace," Luke said with a smile. "If you were truly addicted, you wouldn't be able to go more than a day."

"What do you know about it?" she asked.

"I saw you with Alex, Grace. Joan told me she was worried about you. You had so much alcohol last time I saw you. I put the pieces togethe, and then did some research. The internet is a wonderful thing."

"You mean you _knew_," she gasped. "Why didn't you ever _say_ anything?"

"Please, Grace," Luke scoffed. "How would you have taken it if I said anything?"

"I'd've hurt you," Grace said without hesitation.

"I thought so," Luke said with a smile. "And besides, I did try hinting at it. Remember, I said I would always be there for you?"

"Vividly."

The word hung there. In it, Grace had given away everything and they both knew it. She had admitted how much he meant to her, and how much she had missed him. She had admitted that she wanted him, needed him. She admitted she loved him.

"You never liked Dora, did you?" Luke asked happily.

"I don't want to talk about Dora," Grace snapped. What had possessed her to give so much away?

"Let's talk about you, then," Luke said. "You want to quit drinking, yes?"

"Obviously."

"Excellent. I'll help you."

"How?"

"I'll be there for you. Always."

Grace didn't react.

"Next time you want to reach for a beer, call me," Luke ordered. "I don't care what time it is. Call me if you at all tempted."

"What will that do?" Grace asked.

"I'll distract you."

"How?"

"Well, it'll be harder if we're only on the phone. Perhaps if we were to get together in person—"

"I swear to God, Luke," Grace interrupted, "if you say anything regarding the biology closet, I will hurt you. Badly." She eyed the lamp again.

"Calm down, Grace. This is serious. I want you to call me."

"I don't understand how that will help."

"You don't have to," Luke insisted. "You just have to do it."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Promise me, Grace."

She nodded, he smiled and they moved on to happier topics.

Grace questioned Luke about his life, half-hoping he had some huge, dark secret to share so they could be even. Sadly, though, his life had been quite dull. After a few years of researching something Grace would never be able to pronounce or care about, Luke was ready to move on. He didn't know what he was going to move on to, exactly, but he had decided he wanted move somewhere with actual seasons. For a solid five minutes he complained about California's weather. According to Luke, two seasons existed in LA: too damn hot and mildly warm.

Grace liked it when he talked about such mundane things as the weather. It was comforting that they could sit and talk like this, without dwelling on the past few years. It gave Grace hope.

She clung to that hope when he mentioned moving back to Arcadia, and that's when she realized she wanted him in her life. She recognized that he made her happy. He didn't change her, or make her feel to girly or stupid; he just accepted her.

They talked for a long time. Luke went through two mochas and three chocolate chip cookies; Grace finished three cups of Americano coffee. All in all, it was a very expensive trip. Neither of them much cared.

When they finally got up to leave, Luke made Grace promise once again to call him whenever she felt tempted. She rolled her eyes, but swore to him she would. Luke wrote his cell phone number on a napkin, and Grace folded it carefully before putting it in her wallet.

_My God_, Grace thought as she walked out of the coffee house a few minutes later, _that was the most introspective cup of coffee I've ever had_.

xxxxx

xxxxx

Yay! Let's all cheer for Grace. We'll find out if she was successful in the next chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

A month after telling Luke her secret, Grace came clean to Joan. Joan cried and Grace yelled, but other than that, the conversation went well.

Joan took on the annoying habit of calling Grace's house every night, checking if Grace was lucid or not. This ended when Grace threatened to change her phone number.

A month after telling Joan, Grace told Adam. He claimed he should have realized she was in trouble and tried to help her. Grace managed to read the entire business section of the paper during his rant.

A week after telling Adam, Grace told her dad. He yelled; she cried.

Then she really did change her number, because she just couldn't handle the constant calls from her concerned father and guilty friend.

Luke stepped in at this point, and Grace remained on good terms with her father and oldest friend

Luke was always there for Grace, though she did nothing to make his devotion to her easier. In fact, she actively fought against him in the beginning. During the first few months she gave into temptation at least once a week instead of calling him. She rationalized that she was saving him the inconvenience of dealing with her, but deep down she knew she was wrong.

A year after she confided in Luke, he asked her out. She smacked him over the head, and demanded to know what the last few months had been, if they hadn't been in a relationship. She almost cried when his face broke into a goofy grin. Then he kissed her and her grin became a little goofy, too.

Joan smirked when Grace and Luke showed up at her engagement party as a couple. Adam laughed, and that's when Grace knew she and Adam were going to be okay.

xxxxx

Grace stood in front of the mirror with her eyes closed. She did _not_ want to see what the dress looked like.

"Is everyone decent?" Luke called from outside the door.

"It's just me," Grace yelled, eyes still closed.

Luke walked in.

"I didn't say you could come in, geek," she exclaimed, turning away from the mirror to glare at him. "I never said I was decent."

"Please," he scoffed. "Like I haven't seen you naked before."

"Dude! Your parents are in the house."

"They're so wrapped up in the wedding they wouldn't notice if we made love in front of them."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Grace asked, exasperated. "Don't call it 'making love.' We're not thirteen."

Luke wisely let the conversation drop. Grace took a deep breath and prepared to look in the mirror.

"Just look in the mirror, for God's sake," Luke snapped. "I'm sick of hearing how much you hate the dress. Joan's the bride, and you wear what she picks. No one will blame you for it."

"Are you saying I look so bad people will be wondering who to blame?" Grace teased.

"Mirror. Now."

Grace stuck her tongue out at him and looked in the mirror.

"Holy shit," she breathed. It was a sleek maroon dress with a plunging neckline, and Grace resisted the cover her chest. What had Joan been thinking?

"It's an amazing dress," Luke said honestly. "You look stunning."

Grace nodded, not quite convinced.

Joan burst into the room. Seeing Grace, she rushed over.

"Grace, Grace," she begged, "you have to zip me up. Mom _left_ me, and I need you to zip my dress up."

Grace quickly stopped laughing and zipped up the wedding dress.

"You look good, sis," Luke said.

Joan started, clearly noticing him for the first time. "You, too, little bro. Now go find Mom. I need help putting the veil on. Then find Joe and tell him I will skin him alive he doesn't wear the cummerbund."

With a wave and a chuckle, Luke disappeared.

"Don't trust me with the veil?" Grace asked Joan.

"Nope, sorry."

They laughed, and the wedding proceeded without a hitch.

xxxxx

The reception was almost over when Luke convinced Grace to dance with him. They talked softly as the danced, debating the author of Joe's vows. Luke was convinced he had written them himself, but Grace didn't think Joe was eloquent enough to write such romantic dribble.

Conversation had lapsed when Luke brought up the dreaded topic. "Did you drink any of the champagne, Grace?"

"Of course not," she said sharply.

"Good."

"Did you really think I would?"

"No, I didn't," Luke said with a warm smile.

"Good." She moved a little closer to him. "I haven't had anything for almost four months. I'm not going to ruin that record over a wedding."

"Is there anything you _will_ ruin it over?"

"I don't so," she said slowly. "I really think I'm done with it."

Luke couldn't help himsel; he pulled her flush against him and hugged her tightly.

"Girardi, people can see us," she hissed.

"Do you really care what other people think?"

"I care what your parents think."

"Why?"

"Because they're going to become my in-laws," she stated matter-of-factly.

"They—what?" he choked.

"I saw the ring in your dresser, dork."

"Dammit."

"Don't stress it. And don't think this counts as a proposal. You still owe me a question."

"I'll keep that in mind."

xxxxx

Though both Grace and Luke knew they would get married, neither of them was in a hurry to tie the knot. Luke wanted to find a steady job he liked, and Grace refused to consider marriage until she had been sober for a year. They never talked about the ring in Luke's dresser.

Luke moved around a lot, but never found a job he really liked. Grace kept her job at the bookstore, eventually becoming the floor manager.

Joan and Joe had a baby boy. Grace babysat sometimes, and it was that more than anything else that convinced her she was ready for marriage. She was even ready for children, if they decided to have any.

Two weeks later, Luke gave Grace a copy of _Weddings for Dummies_. A ring was hidden in the chapter "Left Hand, Fourth Finger."

And thus started the longest engagement in Girardi history. Grace wouldn't set a date until she proved to Luke she wasn't entirely dependent on him. For a month she refused to talk to him, as a test to her willpower. She passed, not even once reaching for a shot glass. Luke breathed a sigh of relief, and then made her promise to never leave him like that again.

Grace had been prepared to fight with her dad about the wedding, as she wasn't marrying a Jewish boy, nor was she being at a temple. He surprised her, however, by simply requesting that he be allowed to bless the union. Grace happily agreed, and asked that he do so in Hebrew. He smiled when he said that, and proclaimed that "at least he got one thing right." When Grace asked what that meant, he simply nodded to her and told her he loved her.

They finally set a date for the following year, and Grace ordered Luke to find a job while she took care of the wedding details.

Only Joan's intervention stopped Grace from calling off the reception and dragging Luke to Las Vegas. Grace tried to protest that she had always dreamed of getting married by Elvis, but Joan called in reinforcements, and soon Grace was being scolded by Joan, Helen and her father.

Needless to say, the wedding was a lovely affair. The centerpieces even matched Luke's bowtie.

xxxxx

"Grace," Luke said happily. "Grace, wake up."

"Mmphmh."

"Good morning to you, too."

"Whtimizt?"

"Come again?"

Grace groaned and rolled over so she faced the bedside table. The clock glared at her.

"Why," she asked angrily, "did you wake me up at six thirty in the morning?"

"Do you know what today is?" he asked excitedly.

"The day you're going to die?"

"No, not quite." He jumped out of the bed and started pulling on his ratty old robe. "Today is our first wedding anniversary."

"You woke me up at six thirty in the morning to tell me _that_? Why the hell did I marry you?"

"Because you can't survive without me."

"Yes, I can," she protested.

"But you choose not to."

"Well, yeah, I've kind of grown fond of you." Grace finally gave into his excitement and got up. "You better have coffee brewing, geek."

Bickering happily, the walked into the kitchen.

Grace studied Luke as she drank her coffee. He had always been so good to her. Too good, really, but she loved him for it. She remembered when he stood by her, when he refused to let her drink. She remembered the horrible fights they used to have, and the insults they would hurl at each other. She remembered when she finally broke down sobbing in his arms and promised never to drink again. She remembered when they visited the graveyard, leaving a sunflower for Elizabeth, a purple rose for Judith and a bouquet of daisies for her mother.

Grace remembered the good times, too. She remembered the times she had surprised him, made him laugh. She had been shocked to realize he was as dependent on her as she was on him, and she had reveled in it. She remembered when he admitted that no one else could pull his thoughts away from science like she could.

And most of all, Grace remembered the night he told her he loved her. That was the night she poured herself a shot of vodka and had no desire to drink it. None at all.

Grace pulled her thoughts back to the present and looked at her husband. He was _such_ a good man. She leaned across the table and kissed him soundly.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything," he said several minutes later, "but what was that for?"

"Thank you," she said simply. "For everything."

And Luke understood, as Grace had known he would. Luke always understood.

xxxxx

xxxxx

And so it ends.  
Thank you for reading and reviewing this fic.  
I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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